


Breaking Heaven

by ChasingPerfectionTomorrow



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Drama & Romance, F/M, Friendship/Love, LOTS OF SPOILERS, Romance, Slow Burn, Spoilers, and attempts at understanding elven lore, and feelings, eventual smut probably, long fic, where I try to explain how I think the Well of Sorrows works
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 22:44:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4763783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingPerfectionTomorrow/pseuds/ChasingPerfectionTomorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first step forward was the hardest, of course, it always was -Gods it was always the hardest. But then it was like a landslide, a force of nature barreling forward until she felt she couldn’t stop moving even if she wanted to, like if she tried to stop now, she might never start again.</p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dead in the Water

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS BEYOND THIS POINT! MAAAAAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE MOST RECENT DA:I DLC. You've been warned, dudes.  
> -  
> -  
> -  
> Screw it. Just screw it. 
> 
> I didn't even really ship this very hard till the DLC, but then... there was just so much freaking potential. I want to play with the whole Well of Sorrows-your boyfriend might be Mythal thing as well as the bit at the end of the DLC where the elves start disappearing all over Thedas, and where Abelas went, and how -okay, I'm gonna give all my plot ideas away. This chapter is just sort of a rehash of where we -our poor elven Inquisitor and friends- stand.

 

 _If I was not myself_  
_And you were someone else_  
_I'd say so much to you_  
_And I would tell the truth_  
_It's high, can't hardly breathe_

 _When your hands let go of me_  
_The eyes say standing out_  
_And I feel things from selves_

 _I'm dead in the water_  
_Still looking for ya_  
_I'm dead in the water_  
_Can't you see, can't you see._

_-Dead in the Water, by Ellie Goulding_

 

* * *

 

 

Dryanna did not weep.

Instead she pushed up the sleeve of her robe and stared at the smooth, rounded end of her arm, where once her left hand and forearm had been. The skin was so smooth and perfect that the rest of the appendage might never have existed at all. The pain was gone, the pulsing, ever present tug of the Mark and the Fade beyond was gone, and the world felt utterly silent, still, as if she existed out of time.

Perhaps she did, she mused, taking in her strange surroundings. The Qunari statues were hardly talkative spectators. She shivered despite herself; what a terrible way to die, if they were truly dead at all.

She had woken, alone, armless, with only the fading vision of Solas – _Fen’Harel_ her mind whispered traitorously, or perhaps it was the voices in the Well, unbidden- left to her. For a moment she had believed he meant to let the Mark kill her, consume her, a part of her -a large, nearly overwhelming part of her- had welcomed the end. In all her struggles and failings against Corypheus she had never wished for death, but under the weight of the truth… darkness had seemed preferable.

Gods help her, she could still feel the lingering press of his lips on hers; a strange numbing, and electric sensation that seemed to be embedded in her skin. As if he'd physical killed a part of her; turned it black and charred. The sensation was nearly as strong as the imprint of his sadness and regret, palatable and sharp on her tongue. The strength of his guilt had been beyond her comprehension. She felt suspended in disbelief, like an insect caught in amber –or perhaps a Qunari trapped in stone. She had once believed herself beyond such shock, such crushing, inescapable astonishment; after everything thing that had happened to her, she’d thought her days of world saving were over. It appeared that once again she bore a different mark, another wound in place of the old, this one pulsing in her breast with increasing persistence. Once again, she felt she held the fate of the world in her ignorant, fumbling hands. This time in the guise of an elven God’s heart.

A sudden bubble of manic disbelief rose in her chest and burst from her lips in a bastardized version of a laugh.

“ _Fuck,_ ” she grunted, her voice oddly distended, unfamiliar in her ears. It was a word she’d never known prior to her introduction to the Iron Bull -good Dalish girls didn't know such foul human terms- but it had so many colorful uses. She could think of no better sentiment to encompass the sudden upending of the world she’d once felt she understood.

Everything – _everything-_ had changed.

She wanted to hate him, Gods –the Maker, Spirits of the Fade, power hungry Magisters in the North, whoever would listen, whatever was _real_ anymore- she wanted to hate him. To hate what he’d done and the intentions behind them. But even as he’d laid the intentions of his scheming before her, as he’d unwoven the tapestry of his elaborate deception and betrayal, something inside her had warmed to the idea. To see her people restored, pulled out from beneath their oppressive shroud.

But that… that had been only the lingering effects of the truth she’d been raised all her life to believe –the lie that had been fed to her since birth. That the humans were to blame for the fall of her people, that they had once been beings of wisdom and power, only to have it dashed away by the selfishness of humanity. It was a lie that had begun to crumble in the Temple of Mythal –no, before then, as she’d wandered in confusing elven ruin after confusing elven ruin- and which now laid crumbled in the wake of the implosion.

 _What right have we,_ her heart asked, _to rise from the doom we put upon ourselves? What right have we to unmake this world and shape it to our liking, when we proved we are incapable of managing such power?_

If she’d had more time perhaps she could have made him see… could have made him understand… but how couldn’t he already? He’d laughed with Varric and The Iron Bull, commiserated and talked with Cass and Blackwall –No, it was Thom now, Gods, must everyone she cared for lie to her? He had watched their struggles, witnessed their bravery and self-sacrifice, and it had not been enough to sway him. How then, could she?

 _Because_ , the voices in her head whispered, the Well cresting and fading in disjointed waves, _he loves you. You saw it, the sudden uncertainty, the hesitation. Already you sway him, it is why he could not take you with him, it is why he fears to remain with you for long. His guilt spans oceans and eons, he feels there is no course beyond that which he has made to find recompense for all he took from his people._

“But what can I do?” she croaked, leaning heavy and broken against a rock. “What in Thedas can I do? Have I not done enough? Already they clamor for my resignation, my quiet retirement. They fear and hate me.”

The voices trembled and rumbled like distant thunder before settling again. This time it was a woman’s voice, old and tired, that whispered in her head.

_You have learned the truth, child. Elven Gods were merely beings of supreme power, mortal and greedy. A power which lingers in this world despite all the Dread Wolf has done. A power which can be discovered, unraveled, by those who have the means to look. You’ve held a strong connection to the Fade all your life, you do not need your Inquisition to find this knowledge, but you may find a way to harness the influence you have wrought. Though your search may take you from the light, and into shadows._

Dryanna swallowed thickly, pressing down a lump of bitterness and bile. The Well was mostly silent, growing ever more dormant over the past two years -this was easily the longest ‘conversation’ she’d ever had with ‘it’. She had only taken it to preserve what was left of her people in the first place, and oh, how foolish she felt now. She had learned early on how to suppress its whispers and promptings, though her dreams were another matter, though they were often so disjointed and misty they hardly made any sense at all. She’d suppressed it mostly out of fear, but partially out of necessity. After it had told her how she might defeat Corypheus, she had carefully sealed it away inside the vaults of her mind where it could not distract her from what she had to do.

Gods, Solas had been so angry with her. More angry than she had ever seen him, but there had also been fear there, and uncertainty. At the time she had assumed it was for her, a worry born of the love she was sure they shared, now she thought that perhaps it had been for him –how had her drinking from the Well disjointed or bent his plans? Had he feared discovery?

The moment he’d turned toward her, silhouetted in the light of the Eluvian, his eyes so distant and cold, the Well had risen in a fury of screaming recognition, a chorus of rage and envy and only the burning of her Mark had scorched the chaos clean. How had it not recognized him before? Or had the whispers always been there and she’d merely ignored them?

No, no, she could not have ignored the madness the Well inflicted as Solas’s eyes glowed blue, it had been uncontrollable, unstoppable. Something had changed. _He_ had changed. Or perhaps he had merely been revealed, the layers of his disguise pulled free and left bare. The answer was there, somewhere in the voices of the ages, but she had almost no understanding of how to harness them.

She’d always known the Well held enormous potential. Morrigan had made it very clear, with bitterness and envy burning in her eyes –that is, until her mother had appeared, and then there had been only relief. It was a potential that had frightened Dryanna, not excited her as it had the Witch.

Flemeth’s words - _Mythal’s_ words- echoed back at her. _The truth is not the end, it is the beginning._

It was that beginning she had feared, had avoided since the day the Breach had been sealed for the last time. She wondered if perhaps she had always known the truth of him, of Solas, but the ache in her breast told her that wasn’t true. Despite all her stoicism and careful words to her friends over the past two years, she’d carried a hope inside her, desperate and raw, that he would return.

And so he had, she supposed bitterly, looking again at her arm, or what was left of it.

And so he had.

With the weight of the truth heavy and suffocating, she rose shakily to her feet. It was a quiet, peaceful place. If not for the tortured faces of the frozen Qunari she might have been tempted to never leave, but their expressions made her skin crawl, as if they were truly watching her, tracking her every movement. And the voice inside her, not born of the Well, but the one that had led her up the mountain after the Conclave had exploded, the voice that had led her into Adamant fortress, through the horrors of the Fade, and back through the ruins of Haven, reminded her that she was strong, that she was more than her love for a man who was beyond her comprehension, or her trust.

The Dread Wolf take her, indeed.

She was more than this self-pity and heartbreak.

She did not save Thedas only to let someone –whoever that someone was- destroy it. She had learned that it was easy to hope when the only other alternative was utter despair. Cullen had once told her that not everyone was capable of making the distinction, that it was one of the many things that set her apart, but she had never known another way. She would believe that she could change this, that she could stop him, because she _had_ to. Just as she’d had to believe she could defeat an ancient Magister when everyone and everything seemed to think otherwise.

Dryanna looked toward the Eluvian Solas had stepped through, its surface black and unmoving like the spaces between the stars, then toward the one she’d followed him through, glowing blue and bright. Right now she needed her friends. She had choices to make, new paths to carve. Through that mirror waited people who loved her, cared about her, who did not deserve whatever fate Solas weaved for them in his blind desire for reparation.

The first step forward was the hardest, of course, it always was -Gods it was always the hardest. But then it was like a landslide, a force of nature barreling forward until she felt she couldn’t stop moving even if she wanted to, like if she tried to stop now, she might never start again.

 _Var lath vir suledin_ , she had said to him. Desperate, broken, breaking. It had been the truth, as close to the truth as her weary heart could manage, she only wished it wasn’t. Gods, how she wished it wasn't.

She stepped through the mirror and into the future.

Varric, Dorian, and Cassandra studied her warily for a moment before the dwarf held out his hand to the Tevinter Magister, tears in his eyes and a wavering smirk on his face. “Pay up, Sparkles. Told you she’d lose the arm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Short chapter to start us out, next chapter much longer and deals with the impending dissolution of the Inquisition and the aftermath. No beta here, so be kind, but don't be afraid to point out mistakes, we all make them. 
> 
> According to Tumblr 'Var lath vir suledin' means: Our love has the strength to withstand this path that you walk. 
> 
> Speaking of Tumblr, you can find me there under (you guessed it) chasingperfectiontomorrow.


	2. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dryanna decides the fate of the Inquisition, ends up under a table with Sera, and has an uncomfortable talk with the new Divine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this chapter got long fast, so I split it into two, should have the second part up in the next day or two.

_I saw the light fade from the sky_  
_On the wind I heard a sigh_  
_As the snowflakes cover_  
_My fallen brothers_  
_I will say this last goodbye_  
  
_Night is now falling_  
_So ends this day_  
_The road is now calling_  
_And I must away_

_-The Last Goodbye, by Billy Boyd_

* * *

 

By some miracle, none of them pressed her for answers or explanations. Their silent concern was so thick, however, that Dryanna felt vaguely smothered as they made their way through Eluvian after Eluvian, like some sort of endless, creepy time loop.

Dryanna would have been willing to give up a leg as well as her arm if she never had to pass through another Eluvian again, but something told her she was going to be sorely disappointed. Besides, she had a newfound appreciation for all her remaining limbs.

Cassandra in particular seemed deeply troubled, more so than Dryanna had seen in her in a good long while. The other woman wouldn’t stop looking at her, or touching her; her hand on her arm or back, as if she was afraid Dryanna was going to faint or make a wild run for it at any moment. In fact, Dryanna didn’t think she’d seen Cass so upset since that first day in the dungeons of Haven, when the Seeker had held a sword to her throat. Oh, how things had changed. Now, it was her… her _lover_ –Gods, that didn’t sound right in her head, too impersonal, to tame for the shattered feeling she was carrying around inside her- holding the executioners axe.

None of it made any damn sense anymore.

She couldn’t make the pieces fit together in her mind. The memories she had of him, of _them_ –and God’s knew she tried not to dwell on them often- seemed so completely removed from the elf she’d just encountered that it was beyond reckoning. Like maybe they were two opposing halves of a coin; related, but very, very different. The Solas she had known had been kind, compassionate, loyal and dedicated. The Solas she had known… had loved her.

Maybe none of that mattered now, no matter what the Well whispered.

Dryanna’s first thought, much like Varric, was to make light of the situation. Distract them all with her missing hand –oh, the jokes she would suffer at the _hands_ of her ‘friends’ over the years- so maybe they wouldn’t notice something else was missing, something far more important. Laughing through the pain wasn’t exactly a Dalish concept, but it was one she’d happily adopted since Inquisition soldiers had plucked her bruised and bleeding body off the side of a mountain, which felt like an utter life time ago. It was a surprisingly effective coping mechanism, and it was always enjoyable to get a rise out of Cassandra. It made the nights less lonely and the days less empty, for whatever reason. Dorian would likely accuse her of running away from her problems, but only because he happened to be an expert at it.

But this… well, there was no witty quip to get her out of this one. No stupid joke to mutter under her breath that was going to fill the total hollowness in her gut. No laugh that could ease the ache between her ribs. She wasn’t even sure she could muster one if she tried.

Gods, she was tired. A bone deep weariness that made her joints ache, and she was experiencing the strangest tingling sensation at the blunted end of her arm, like her body hadn’t quite realized there wasn’t a wrist and fingers somewhere at the end of it. She would suddenly swear she could feel an itch on the back of her left hand, only to realize a prolonged heartbeat later that there was nothing left to itch. It was a disorienting and rather upsetting reminder. She’d never been a particularly vain person, but then… she’d also had all her appendages.

This was really going to affect her supposed marriage prospects -Josephine was going to be mortified.

Another sensation was poking at her, quiet and patient, but not easily ignored. It was her magic. Her _real_ magic, what she had possessed before she’d accidentally picked up a rolling green orb that had broken the sky open. It was… reassuring, that poke. Not like it once had been; sort of scary and tempting and mysterious. It felt pretty damn tame compared to the raw power of the Mark. Sort of like training with a weighted practice staff then being handed a lighter, real one; muscles strong and full of engrained memory born of hours and _hours_ of practice.

“We’re nearly there,” Cassandra muttered, still eyeing her side long, still tense and concerned. Gods, Dryanna hoped that look would fade fast. The last thing she needed was for everyone to start treating her like a fragile invalid.

The final Eluvian lay just ahead, but they lagged a bit, each of them carrying more than their fair share of scrapes and bruises. One side of Dorian’s head was matted with blood, though the cut looked shallow, but Bull was going to be _pissed_. Or maybe they realized, like her, that their job wasn’t quite done yet, that beyond that shimmering light waited the end of something old and the beginning of something new, and that they likely wouldn’t be facing the unknown together, not this time.

She slowed to a stop, and waited till they did the same. They all looked anxious, worried, and uncertain, like maybe she was going to start screaming or crying all over them, which probably wasn’t too far from the truth. Dorian at least tried for a smile, which sort of missed the mark with all the blood on his face.

“I promise I’ll explain everything once we gather Cullen, Josie, and Leliana. It’s not a story I really want to tell twice,” Dryanna said with a grimace. “But… I just… I wanted to say- Well, I’m not sure what I wanted to say. Only that everything is really messed up right now and I have no idea what is going to happen, and I’ve just learned some crazy, crazy things, and-“

She was interrupted by Cassandra’s arms around her.

The Seeker held her like she wasn’t quite sure how arms worked, made only _more_ awkward by her blood and filth covered armor that was decidedly not cushy as it pressed her breasts into flat-cakes. Dryanna for her part, was stunned, quickly running through all the memories of her interactions with Cassandra, trying to think of another time they might have embraced, and coming up with nothing. If she hadn’t just experience the emotional equivalence of the Breach exploding, it would have easily been the most surprising thing to happen to her in several years.

“Well, it’s something anyway,” Dorian muttered mysteriously before stepping forward and hugging them both. His chin rested on top of her head and he rubbed, physically _rubbed,_ her back in gentle soothing motions.

“I hope you realize we all look like giant jackasses,” Varric proclaimed before squeezing into the fray, one arm around her waist and the other around Cassandra’s, _of all people_. Dryanna wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t dreaming -perhaps it was their proximity to the Fade within the Crossroads that was addling their minds. They were a smelly, sweaty, bloodied mess of feelings and Dryanna sniffed ominously.

“I hate all of you, I don’t want to cry,” she said, blinking rapidly into Dorian’s gore covered collar.

“Best not to,” the other mage said into her hair, “that sort of thing can cause a chain reaction, and I’m concerned Cassandra would stab me if I were to witness any outward show of emotion.”

Cassandra grunted. “It would certainly give me an excuse.”

“Maker, we’re terrible at this comforting thing,” Varric said from somewhere in the vicinity of her armpit. “Listen, Dry, we got your back, even if we can’t be at your side all the time, whatever happened back there… whatever you saw or heard or hallucinated, we- well, we just got your back. Okay?”

“Damnit, Varric,” Dryanna grumbled, wiping her nose indelicately on the shoulder of her robe. “I hate it when you give speeches, they always make me want to cry, and then punch something.” She blamed Sera for that particular sentiment.

“Fortunately for all of us, you don’t hit very hard,” Dorian said, extracting himself with a haughty amount of grace and twirling one end of his mustache.

“Not to mention you-“

“Varric,” Cassandra warned, disentangling herself like she was shedding a dirty cloak and refusing to look anyone in the eyes. Her cheeks were rather red.

“Whaaat,” Varric whined, looking deceptively innocent with his hands held up in surrender. “I wasn’t going to say anything _rude_. Certainly nothing about missing hands or arms. Nope, nothing limb related whatsoever.”

Cassandra glowered at him and Dryanna, despite everything, or maybe because of it, found herself smiling like an idiot because it really _was_ just like old times.

Gods, that year fighting Corypheus and closing the Breach had been the longest, most awful year of her life… yet, despite it all… she had missed this. Missed her friends; the three of them out in the crazy wilds of the world discovering shit that didn’t make any sense, barely escaping demons and dragons and giant bears with their lives, and being there for one another when the smoke finally settled. She’d grown close to everyone she’d managed to pick up along the way, but these three –a Tevinter mage, now Magister, a Dwarf from Kirkwall, now a Viscount, and a Seeker, once the Right hand of the Divine- had always been her backbone, her legs to stand on when hers just wouldn’t hold her up anymore.

Fuck, now she really did want to cry.

“One joke Varric,” she said with a glare. “You’ve got one joke, so you had better make it count.”

Varric beamed, then cleared his throat seriously, contemplating for a moment before snapping his fingers in delight.

“Aha! Got one,” he announced, hands on his hips. “Well, let’s just say, I’m glad you’re going to be _all right_.”

Cassandra’s noise of disgust echoed loudly throughout the Crossroads.

\--

Cullen couldn’t quite stop staring at her missing arm.

He was trying to be discreet about it, the poor man, but every time he thought her attention was directed elsewhere, his eyes flickered to it, as if he couldn’t quite believe it was gone. Dryanna understood the feeling. She hadn’t quite come to terms with it herself, but mostly she was trying not to think about it. She had other things to worry about, like the man she loved trying to destroy the world. There would be time to cope with the physical trauma later.  

“We are so glad you are alright, Inquisitor,” Josie gushed, rushing forward to give her a brief hug, her eyes avoiding the left side of her body entirely. That was their Ambassador, ever polite and well-mannered.

Dryanna gave them a smile that wavered and collapsed into a nearby chair, legs stretched out and boneless before her. Cassandra stood by the fireplace, looking particularly broody. Dorian had left to get himself patched up, a fuming Iron Bull in tow, and Varric had gone off to let his seneschal know he was, in fact, still alive.

“How long do we have till I have to face the Exalted Council?” she asked, wishing she could take a bath and maybe a yearlong nap. The very last thing in the world she wanted to do was face a panel of twisted, ungrateful diplomates. It seemed saving the world only garnered one so much favor, she only wished it had lasted a little longer. She wasn’t quite ready to pick up the burden of Thedas again, damnit.

Lelianna shifted from the shadows, expression guarded. “An hour, maybe less. They have grown very impatient.”

Dryanna closed her eyes for a moment. The Well whispered and muttered like a swarm of bees between her ears as flashes of the past few hours played before her eyes like the opera Josephine had taken her to see. Gods, everything was such a mess.

“I’m going to disband the Inquisition,” she said, finally.

Cullen drew in a sharp breath, “My Lady are you sure-“

And so Dryanna told them. She told them everything Solas had said to her, grinding the words out like she was personally sharpening the blade meant for her execution. The silence and uncertainty fell like a shroud as she spoke, harkening back to the days when their every move felt like it might bring the world crumbling down on top of them. Solas had not been precisely popular, but he had been a trusted figure in their inner circle, he had been _one of them_ , and while Thom Ranier’s betrayal had certainly stung… this was far worse.

“We can no longer trust our people, already I’ve discovered more spies” Leliana said after a stretch of weighty silence, looking suddenly wearier and older than she had just moments before.

“It is the fate of every large organization,” Josie said with a sigh, not quite looking at anyone, her eyes glinting bright and wet in the firelight. “No matter how noble our intentions, we no longer have the threat of the Breach to bind people to us.”

Cassandra huffed. “And the threat of an Elven Mage bringing the world to an end isn’t enough?”

Leliana shook her head. “We’ve been compromised. The Inquisitor is right, we must disband, at least… officially.”

Cullen raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“We cannot leave Solas to destroy the world, Commander, we will continue to search, to look for ways in which to stop him, even if we must do it from the shadows.”

Her tone, dark and threatening, made Dryanna shiver. There was death in those words, and while she understood the motive, she had not given up hope that there might be a means to save Solas from himself. Not yet.

“I believe Orlais intends to grant the Inquisitor a noble house, to include a Council seat,” Josephine told them, shocking Leliana and mortifying Dryanna.

“What?” they demanded in unison.

Josie smiled a little. “It certainly makes sense. They also mean to grant you Skyhold, after discussing the border treaties with Ferelden of course, but they are hardly in a position to protest. I’ve also made… _inquiries_ into the fate of Care Bronach and I believe I have convinced Ferelden to well-“ She glanced meaningfully at Cullen. “To grant our dear commander a title and the Keep.”

Cullen sputtered and coughed, his pallor taking on a faintly green hue. “You cannot be serious.”

Leliana was smiling now, enjoying, as always, Cullen’s discomfort when it came to anything vaguely political. “I’m sure Ferelden only wishes to honor a hero from their own kingdom, and I have to admit that it makes a great deal of sense, it allows the remains of the Inquisition a foothold while removing some of our claws.”

“So that’s it then,” Cassandra said, interrupting them. “This is end of the Inquisition?”

Her words had an instant sobering effect, and, with more effort than she wanted to admit, Dryanna rose to her feet. At this point, she merely wanted to get things over with, and she desperately needed to change; she had a sense that arriving in blood splattered robes before the Council would be frowned upon, and Gods only knew what her hair must look like.

“This isn’t the end of anything… it’s just the beginning of something new,” she said slowly, forming her words with care. “We finished what we set out to do. We saved the world when no one else would or could. They needed us at the frontlines before, when our enemy was clear and reckless, when they needed a symbol to rally around. Now we are dealing with something beyond anything any of us could have imagined and we would work better, as Lelianna said, from the shadows.”

Not to mention the implications of Solas’s betrayal and what it meant concerning the crumbling foundations of the Inquisition. No, as much as a part of her wished to cling to the organization she had helped to create, she knew, as she had always known, that there would be a day where they would have to set their weapons aside.

Josie nodded. “We saved the world for them and now it is time that Orlais and Ferelden use the peace we have given them. Perhaps they deserve the chance, now that we have set them down the path.”

Cullen grunted, still looking vaguely unsteady on his feet. “I certainly hope they don’t make our sacrifices stand for nothing other than more political peacocking.”

Leliana’s smile was soft, her eyes distant. “We still have much to do, Commander, this is not over. Not yet.”

There was a knock on the door and Cassandra answered it. After several moments of quiet debate, she turned toward them, face grave. “They are ready for us.”

All four of them looked to Dryanna, gazes piercing, but it was Cullen who spoke, “At your command… Inquisitor.”

-

“You know, I didn’t think that when I finally stopped being the ‘Inquisitor’ I’d be trading in one title for three others,” Dryanna said conversationally from beneath a table, followed by a loud belch.

She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d ended up on the ground to begin with, but it was quite comfortable, all things considered. Besides, every time she tried to sit up, the world started to spin in a clear attempt to unbalance and embarrass her. Better to stay where she was.

Sera was snoring lightly beside her, a bit of drool glistening from the side of her open mouth, and a dark green bottle clutched in her arms. Dorian was sprawled like some sort of predatory feline in a nearby chair, sipping on a glass of fine Tevinter wine, the bandage at his temple somehow managing to make him look only more dashing.

“Yes well, I never expected to be made a Magister while quietly appreciating my father who I had once sworn to hate for time and all eternity.”

“Life man,” Varric slurred from the couch. “It’s a funny, fucked up thing.”

“Cheers to that,” she said and lifted her glass, hitting the bottom of the table above her and splashing half the wine onto her shirt. She licked some of it off her hand.

“Josephine is going to be positively livid when she sees that blouse, but I for one am glad I will never have to see it again,” Dorian drawled.

“Watch it, Tevinter, I am now a Comtess _and_ a Duchess.”

Dorian snorted sardonically, and drained his glass, leg extended elegantly over the setae.

“Clever bit of maneuvering they did there,” Varric said, fumbling for his glass of brandy on the end table behind him. “Letting you keep Skyhold and moving some of the borders to fold you into Orlais.”

Dryanna sighed and pouted, picking at a bit of chipping paint on the underside of the very nice table in her very nice rooms. Gods, she couldn’t wait to leave. She wanted her room and her bed and her castle, but mostly she just wanted to be somewhere she felt safe so she could feel sorry for herself. Just for a little while.

“It’s more like a leash, meant to snare me in with the Orlesians,” she grumbled, “which will only piss of the Fereldens more.”

“To the Fade with Ferelden,” Sera snorted, eyes still closed. “We save their stupid arses _twice_ , least they can do is let us hold up the sky or whatever. Not like any of those pricks really wants to live in a frozen castle away from everything anyway.”

“I for one will never forget your final words to the ever-so Exalted Council,” Dorian said, rising to his feet in a drunken pirouette. He picked a book off the table above her and strutted forward, glaring at an invisible accuser across the room. “If you will excuse me,” he began in a high-pitched voice that was clearly meant to be an imitation of _her_ , “I have a world to save, _again_.” He threw down the book with an exaggerated whirl of his coat and collapsed back into his chair chuckling. Dryanna tossed a slipper at him.

“I have to admit Dry,” Varric said, chortling along, “that was some pretty good shit.”

Dryanna groaned. “You’re not going to put it into another book, are you?”

Varric looked affronted. “I’ll have you know, my editor thinks _This Shit is Weird_ will be a bestseller within the year.”

“I still can’t believe you used that title. That has got to be the worst title for any book in the history of Thedas.”

“On the contrary, I think it is the most _accurate_ title for any book in the history of Thedas.”

Dryanna grunted, glaring into her mysteriously empty glass. “You may have a point there.”

A moment of silence, then. “Wait I got another one!” Varric proclaimed excitedly.

“Maker help us,” Dorian groaned dramatically.

Varric ignored him, sitting up in his chair. “I guess Vivienne won’t be able to make you the _left_ hand of the Divine now.”

Sera laughed at least. Dryanna attempted to imitate Cassandra, but the noise she made sounded more like she was passing gas than anything else. Dorian pretended to vomit into his wine glass.

As if in response, Bull snorted thunderously from the couch above her and said, in his sleep, “She shoulda known … if you wanna ride the Bull… you have to be ready for the horns.” He then proceeded to roll over while Dorian observed him with a soft, adoring expression on his face.

Gods help her, she was going to miss these ridiculous assholes.

-

Dorian was the first to leave. She met him near the stables just after dawn, a hangover pulsing happily between her brows. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping… and it was positively disgusting.

“I suppose you’re going to turn into a stuffy, fat, poorly dressed bureaucrat now,” Dryanna said, feeling suddenly very small and very lonely. She could still remember the first day they’d met, his face smirking arrogantly in the sickly light of a Fade Rift. To think, a Tevinter and a Dalish elf, friends. Not that their version of the past resembled truth, not anymore, but still… it was a bridge she was happy they had crossed, together.

Dorian shuddered, looking very official in robes of black and silver. “If I do, please be sure to put me out of my misery.”

Dryanna smiled, eyes pricking traitorously. “If the breech in fashion doesn’t kill you out right.”

“One can only hope,” he said with a snort, then sobered. He reached into his pocket and fished something free, holding it out to her.

It was a pendant on a thin silver chain, finely made with delicate swirls and knots woven into a sort of cage made of silverite with tiny emeralds inset at random. It was very pretty, and Dryanna momentarily felt choked by a wave of emotion as she took it in hand.

“Open it,” he pressed, and she flicked the clasp on one side open with the nail of her thumb. Inside lay a gently glowing jewel, swimming with lyrium and touches of Fade magic, pulsing steadily like the beat of a heart.

“I have its mate, you see,” he said, fishing out an identical locket from beneath his robes. “Developed the magic myself over the past few months as I toiled away in my homeland. Maker knows I needed something to distract me from the endless droning. Watch.”

So she did, frowning in confusion as he pressed his thumb briefly into the jewel of his locket, then jumping slightly in when the locket in her hand began to grow warm and vibrate. Her eyes widened. Impressive magic indeed.

“Touch it,” he said, and with only the slightest hesitation, she did. It felt electric against her skin, prickling at her senses.

“You look terrible,” Dorian’s voice told her through the gem, and she looked up at him in shock as he grinned at her, lowering his hands that had cupped the pendant against his lips.

“This is amazing Dorian,” she said. “Seriously amazing.”

“Everything I do is amazing, hadn’t you noticed? I figured this way we could continue to bolster one another’s egos no matter our locations.”

Dryanna rolled her eyes, beyond touched by the gesture. “Your ego is nearly as large as Thedas, Dorian.”

He preened. “You’re quite right, but one never tires of hearing how wonderful one is.”

“You’re impossible,” she said, and flung herself at him.

He wrapped her up in a strong embrace, lifting her off her feet. “You’re going to be just fine,” he said against her shoulder. “You’re the strongest person I have ever known and I love you very much.”

“I love you too, Dorian,” she said, sniffling and hating it. She’d meant to present a strong face, but felt her emotions balancing on the tip of a knife.

He held her for another long moment, though not nearly long enough, then pulled back to kiss her firmly on the brow, smelling of leather and lavender, like he always did. He searched her face one last time, cupping her face between his palms, then stalked away. The rising sun briefly caught the bright streaks of tears on his cheeks as he turned the corner to enter the stables.

Dryanna stood for a long while in the shade of the trees, listening to the muted sounds of the waking palace, feeling the wind on her face, and wondered how many more times she’d have to watch pieces of her heart walk away.  How long before she had no pieces left to give.

\--

Everything, it turned out, was harder with one hand.

Getting dressed alone was impossible; trying to cut any sort of food herself was embarrassing; bathing herself was completely frustrating; and _forget_ trying to tie her own boot laces.

By the time she’d managed to tighten her belt –even using her teeth at one point- she was already late for her meeting with her Josie and the Orlesian Ambassador. She wondered if perhaps she could merely stay in her rooms forever.

There was a knock on the door as she slumped on her bed in defeat. Gods, she felt like burning something. Or someone.

“What?!” she bellowed, not rising.

“I thought we might have a word in private, my dear,” came a familiar voice.

Dryanna's anger quelled immediately and she swallowed back a lump of anxiety as she crossed her clothing strewn room –she’d demolished it in her search for a robe with the least amount of laces and buttons. It had been a trying morning. With a steadying breath, she opened the door to Divine Victoria, who looked regal and lovely –despite the ridiculous hat – flanked by several armed guards. Dryanna felt about as foolish and uncouth as she had three years ago when they’d first met; some things, it seemed, never changed.

Vivienne swept into the room with a slight bow, leaving her guards behind with a regal flick of her wrist. “Good morning, Your Grace.”

Dryanna winced at the title. “It won’t be official for several months, at least until the Empress returns.”

Vivienne merely smiled, then lifted a brow at the state of her room. The smile faded completely as Dryanna closed the door and the other woman looked her up and down.

“Tsk tsk, my dear. Still unable to ask for help after all these years I see.”

Dryanna’s temper rose immediately and she had to bite back a sarcastic retort. Gods, she felt like a petulant child. Vivenne’s gaze softened immediately, perhaps reading something in Dryanna’s expression, and she reached out toward her with gentle hands.

“I am sorry we have not had more time to talk,” she said as Dryanna reluctantly allowed the Divine, of all people in Thedas, to straighten the laces of her robe.

“I imagine you’re quite busy,” Dryanna grumbled, staring fixedly as the elaborate gold talismans that hung from Vivienne’s robes, wondering idly what they meant.

“ _You_ certainly have been busy. Traveling through elven mirrors, battling Qunari, chasing supposed Elven God’s-“ she broke off, and Dryanna looked up, surprised at the show of uncertainty.

Vivienne searched her gaze for a long moment, clearly looking for something, some sign, but Dryanna had no idea what it might be. If she wished to talk about Solas… well, Dryanna was almost certain she wasn’t ready to discuss the implications further, or her personal feelings on the matter. With sigh, the Divine broke eye contact and smoothed the robe down across Dryanna’s shoulders.

“There we are dear, now let me help you with your boots.”

Dryanna shook her head and stepped back, hands raised as if to ward off an attack. “No! I –er, I couldn’t.”

Vivienne shook her head like an indulgent parent trying to reign in a difficult child and motioned to the chair nearest the door - the one next to the table she’d passed out beneath the night before. “Don’t be silly, my dear. The role of Divine is one of service, and you, above all else, deserve a little kindness and pampering.”

Her tone left very little room for argument, and any protest she might have made was ignored as the Divine pressed her forward.

“How are things at the Circle?” Dryanna asked as Vivienne riffled through the piles of material collected haphazardly about the opulent room, her nose scrunched up in distaste, and finally settled on a pair of soft, calf high boots in dark brown leather. Dryanna was fairly certain she had never seen them before.

Vivienne had surprised no one by reinstituting the Circles. Well, really only _one_ Circle, as well as gathering what was left of the Templar order and setting them to rights as best as current political leanings could manage. What _did_ surprise everyone –perhaps Dryanna most of all- was how the new Divine had so quickly, and unapologetically, stripped the Templars of their power. There had been plenty of dissenters when a mage was called into Perfection, and their voices became only more noisy and persistent as her changes came into effect one by one. By the end of it, however, the Templars were little more than well armored guards with little to no say in anything at all.

It was surprisingly… perfect.

The Circle, by all accounts, was flourishing. Despite the success, however, Dryanna remained cautious. She imagined the Circles had once been as they were now –open places where mages might study their craft and learn to control themselves without fear of harming others- and wondered if history would only stand to repeat itself. Leliana certainly seemed to think so.

“Wonderful, darling, simply wonderful,” Vivienne said, kneeling before her with all the grace of a butterfly landing on a flower petal. “Things have finally settled again after the last _ridiculous_ revolt, though Fiona and her people still hound me on occasion, but I believe we have at least reached an understanding.” Vivienne cradled her ankle in a dark, elegant hand, and Dryanna felt as though her face might burst into flame at any moment as the other woman began to gently work her foot through the bindings.

Dryanna knew all this already, of course –Leliana kept her abreast of every new political development, whether Dryanna wanted to be in the know or not.

She knew, for instance, that Fiona had managed to hold on to her College of Enchanters, Vivienne gracious enough to allow those Mages who’d voted down the Circles to retain their freedom –at a price. They had to prove that they were able to govern and police themselves, with the Chantry breathing down their necks. So far the incidents had been few and relatively minor –a few near possessions and one abomination that was quickly handled-, though the tensions remained high. Dryanna was trying desperately to stay out of it, but as a mage, and unwillingly prominent political figure, she was finding it more and more difficult.

Vivienne began lacing up her boot, the top of her hat nearly hitting Dryanna in the face, and she leaned back, staring up at the ceiling.

“I was hoping you might be able to visit, as soon as you have your affairs in order of course.”

“I would like that,” Dryanna said, meaning it. As a Dalish Keeper’s First, she had never been anywhere near a Circle, and what stories she had heard were nightmarish and not exactly inspiring. She thought of Cullen, and shivered.

Dryanna had managed, however, to visit Fiona after she’d officially established her ‘center for mage education and training’ –as the official facilitator of the Inquisition’s treaty with the free mages, it had been her duty to ensure they were well taken care of… and not a possible threat to the rest of Thedas. Things had been rather rough, at first, but the mages had regained some of their confidence and a great deal of world experience during their fight with Corypheus, and Dryanna had eventually come away relatively confident they could manage themselves. For now, at least.

Vivienne finished Dryanna’s final boot, tightening the laces carefully, and rose. “Would you like me to braid your hair, my dear?”

“Really, that won’t be necessary-“

But Vivenne was already moving toward the vanity and picking up the fine comb Josie had given her for her last name day. It had a giant’s tusk handle carved into the shape of a leaping Halla and Dryanna was quite fond of it. The Divine waved her to sit and, secretly enjoying being pampered, Dryanna sat before the gilded mirror.

She watched quietly as Vivienne lifted the heavy mass of her white-blonde hair and began to softly run the comb through it in deep, even strokes, humming quietly under her breath. The sensation was pretty damn wonderful, actually, and Dryanna tried to relax, letting her hazel eyes slip closed as she listened to the unfamiliar melody and the rythmic slide of the brush. In truth, looking at her reflection for long made her… uneasy, like she wasn’t quite certain who was looking back anymore. The eyes were the same, honey and gold with splotches of green, but the fan of wrinkles encompassing each was a rather more recent development, as were the scattering of scars across her left cheek and chin.

Though nothing was more unsettling than the empty space at her left side; her bath earlier that morning had been a test of emotional fortitude and she’d draped a towel over the full length mirror in her dressing room to avoid accidentally seeing herself.  It was of course Vain and foolish, but she wasn’t quite ready to face her naked form just yet.

“I confess I came here to broach a rather… _sensitive_ subject, my dear,” Vivienne said as she set the comb aside and began to section off portions of her hair.

Dryanna tensed, not precisely surprised, but perhaps foolishly hopeful. Obviously the Divine wouldn’t merely stop by her rooms and braid her hair and lace her boots without a higher purpose.

She cleared her throat. “Of course, my lady.”

“First I should offer my deepest sympathies for not only the loss of your hand, but also for the betrayal of one I know you held very dear to your heat,” she began and Dryanna clenched her hand against her knee, willing herself to breathe through the sudden and sharp pain in her chest. Vivienne had never liked Solas, her distaste for the elven Apostate clear from the start. “But well, I had to be certain, that-“

Vivienne’s eyes flicked up as she tied off Dryanna’s hair with a fine lace ribbon. They were hard and serious, making Dryanna’s pulse quicken, as though she were a halla caught in a predator’s snare, and she felt as though the other woman was peering into the tenderest parts of her heart. Pulling bits of useful information free to examine up close.

“I must know if you are willing to do what must be done,” she finished with a deep sigh, letting the braid fall heavy against Dryanna’s back.

“W-what do you mean?” Dryanna stuttered, though she knew, with a sinking sensation in her gut, exactly what she was asking.

“I mean, my dear, are you willing to do whatever it may take to stop Solas?” Vivienne said, resting her hands on Dryanna’s shoulders like heavy slabs of stone, holding her prisoner in the fetters of her delicate hands. “I know what he meant to you… perhaps what he still means to you. But certainly you see that he is beyond redemption. After everything he has done, and everything he intends to do, he deserves no mercy.”

Vivienne’s tone was gentle, almost warm, but beneath the velvet honey was a thread of sharpened steel, the hint of a dark promise. But Dryanna was no longer the frightened Dalish girl who’d stumbled from the Fade bearing a mysterious and dangerous mark, who knew nothing of humans or their ways, who fumbled and tripped over herself attempting to adapt to the role she’d been forced to take. She had learned this game, had seen it’s machinations in motion, and would play it as she must. For her sake, and for the elven man she still believed, despite everything, could be saved.

The voices of the Well stirred and whispered _… though your search may take you from the light, and into shadows._

“Of course, Most Holy,” she lied, meeting Vivenne’s stare with lifted chin. “Of course.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to be a bit of fleshing out in these earlier chapters. Lots of loose threads to tie as we delve into the main plot. Hope you enjoyed reading and, again, I have no beta, so feel free to point out any errors. Though maybe also tell me something nice and offer me some cookies because I had a long day at work and forgot to bring my lunch. Poor me, I know.
> 
> Oh, super clever missing hand jokes stolen from tumblr, specifically ageofdragon.


	3. It Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dryanna collects Eluvians, makes some impossible plans, signs some official paperwork, and finally gets to head back home -to Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're here for a quick Solas fix, you're probably going to be disappointed, but if you're looking for a dynamic plot line with romance and adventure and answered questions seasoned with smut and angst, you're in the right place. 
> 
> Changed some things around because, well, I can. I picked a new place for Cassandra to start rebuilding the Seekers, for reasons. Cole is more human Cole, but not with Maryden, also for reasons. He will make an appearance soon. The plot begins to pick up in our next chapter.

_We broke_  
_Everything that was right_  
_We both enjoyed a good fight_  
  
_And we sewed_  
_All the holes we had to breathe_  
_To make the other one live_  
  
_And I loved the way you looked at me_  
_And I miss the way you made me feel_  
_When we were alone_

_-Shiver, Lucy Rose_

 

* * *

 

Necessity had forced Dryanna to forget.

No… not forget. Never forget.

_Repress._

It would have been easy, far too easy, for her to slip into the oblivion his absence had left behind, to let go of everything she’d worked so hard to accomplish and drape herself in sorrow. So, she pushed aside the memories of his hands, warm and steady on her hips, of his lips sliding achingly across her mouth, of his taste and smell and presence, allowing her to continue on as she must.

Still… he lingered in the smaller moments.

Appearing in her sudden dislike of tea, in her quiet interest in everything related to the Fade, in her attempts to understand more about Spirits and Demons and the mysterious pasts' of their people. Subconsciously hoping her efforts might lead her to his side and help her understand why he had left her behind.

Flashes of his ghost haunted her, tormenting her with the curve of his smile and the line of his jaw echoed in the faces of strangers. Sometimes she wondered if she was going slowly mad. If a piece of her mind and heart had been lost forever, and with it her sanity.

She would watch Cullen open a report and recall Solas’s long, nimble fingers, so gentle yet so determined, so sure as they reached for her, only to tremble away when she reached back. She would listen to Thom and Cassandra exchange war stories over a fire and recall Solas’s calming, understanding presence, and the quiet sad sort of look that would come over him when he recounted his memories from the Fade. Memories that she was now certain weren’t dreams, but experiences he’d personally endured in a time beyond her imagining.

_No matter what comes, I want you to know that what we had… was real._

Looking down at her remaining hand in a silver stretch of moonlight, Dryanna wasn’t sure what was real any longer. In the recesses of her mind, a lone wolf howled a single, broken note that went on and on and on.

-

Her friends left one and two at a time.

Varric’s departure came shortly after Dorian’s. He reminded her that she owed him a visit and that Bran, his seneschal, wouldn’t leave him alone until they’d had a proper ceremony for her title as Comtess –and unlikely holder of the port key for Kirkwall. Iron Bull left with his Chargers to escort the Tevinter Ambassador to the border of Orlais, promising to return to Skyhold once the job was done. For how long, he didn’t say, and Dryanna hadn’t asked. She had merely smiled, waggled her brows, and waved goodbye to Krem who stood very close to a certain bard.

Sera was the easiest, as she merely departed ahead of their main contingent so she could return to a certain –insane- dwarven anarcist. Dryanna had sent her back with some reports and missives, then promised she’d be home as soon as possible, and to please not allow Dagna blow up anything important.

Cassandra avoided saying farewell for days before finally cornering Dryanna in a deserted hallway. She looked like a child about to confess some sort of misdeed to a parent.

“I’ve word from several Seekers, we’d like to, under Divine Victoria’s discretion, start rebuilding,” she said to Dryanna's boots.

Dryanna smiled, heart sinking. She’d expected this, of course, but found the reality harder to face than she had imagined. “That’s wonderful Cassandra. Where will you begin?”

“In the Hinterlands,” she said, still not meeting her eye. “You recall the castle we wrested from those mercenaries?”

“Rather hard to forget,” Dryanna said wryly, tapping the left ridge of her jaw where a mercenary’s dagger had caught her, drawing the other woman's attention.

Cassandra coughed into her gloved fist. “Yes, well, the Divine has seen fit to grant it to the order while we attempt to rebuild and assess the damage. Oh, and she has named me Lady Seeker, though I thought perhaps we might rid the new order of such titles all together.”

Dryanna nodded, hoping her face betrayed nothing of her disappointment. “That’s wonderful news, Cassandra. I know how much this means to you. I always believed you could reestablish the Seekers toward a brighter cause.”

The Seeker’s cheeks colored slightly and she peeked sidelong at Dryanna, as if she wasn’t entirely sure if she should believe her. “It will take years to rebuild… and in light of what we learned at Caer Oswin, well, there is much to do. Much that must be changed.” At least, Dryanna reasoned, the Hinterlands were not _too_ far from Skyhold.

Draynna placed a hand on Cassandra's shoulder. “You know you have my full support. Always.”

Cassandra seemed to melt slightly with relief, her smile turning genuine. “Thank you, my friend. It is good to know that you are not angry with me for leaving.”

“I did not expect you to stay long, now that the Inquisition is officially disbanded,” she said. “There is much to do, many things that need to be set right.”

Cassandra fixed her with an even, contemplative stare. “I know what the other’s will say. What they have already begun to say. But Solas… was my friend. I believe as you do that there is hope he may be reasoned with. And if anyone can find that reason, it is you.”

Dryanna swallowed thickly and, mostly because she could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t tear her soul into even _smaller_ pieces, she drew the other woman in for a tight hug. It was much less awkward this time; clearly practice would make perfect.  

-

Dryanna met Leliana in a small storage room near the dungeons beneath the Winter Palace long after the midnight bell had rung.

“Well?” she asked, stepping into the faint circle of light from a single, small torch.

Leliana, cloaked and dressed in black, pulled the shroud from first one Eluvian, then three others, all of them dark and lifeless. For the moment, at least. “We’ve secured two more, they should be delivered tomorrow. My agents in Ferelden have accounted for eight so far, they will be smuggled to Skyhold as soon as they are able.”

Dryanna nodded gravely. More than she had anticipated, but it was hard to say from where they had come and to what purpose. Solas? The Qunair? Or-

“And what of Briala?”

Leliana’s jaw tightened. “Still long gone, along with an increasing number of elven servants. We can find no trace of the Ambassador.”

“Gods, that was fast… what could it mean?”

Leliana hesitated, looking thoughtfully at the mirrors, as though she expected some direction or information to come leaping out to aid her. “There have been rumors… whispers among the servants-“ she broke off.

“Of?” Dryanna pressed, tugging the folds of her cloak closer about her to ward off the chill of stone and uncertainty that permeated the air.

“Of a presence, visiting elven servants in their dreams. A presence, or _demon,_ claiming to be Mythal.”

Dryanna rubbed her hand over her face, considering. She had not forgotten the price she’d paid for the Well, but she didn’t particularly appreciate being indirectly reminded. “I did not expect things to get moving so quickly.”

“Our old friend has been busy these past two years, it seems.”

Dryanna snorted, acid tingling at the back of her throat. “While we sat around thinking the world was saved and our problems gone.”

“Perhaps we should be grateful that Corypheus proved more powerful than Solas anticipated,” Leliana said darkly.

Dryanna’s head snapped toward her, disbelieving. “What do you mean?”

Leliana met her stare, eyes hard and glittering. “If not for Corypheus, Solas would have destroyed the world outright, without a single person knowing the better.”

She was right, of course. Solas had admitted it himself, but it proved to be a bitter truth to swallow.

“Never thought I’d be thanking a crazy, ancient, Tevinter Magister made of red lyrium and delusion.” She said, deflecting her true feelings deftly with sarcasm.

Leliana made a faint noise of amusement, then: “I must ask, my lady, do you have a plan? I confess… I find myself at a loss.” Dryanna could hear how difficult it was for her former Spymaster to admit her helplessness, and she understood the feeling all too well.

Dryanna leaned against the wall, watching the torch flames dance for a moment before speaking. “I’m not sure I would call it a _plan_ , but I have some ideas… a sense of what we must do.”

“And… that is?”

Dryanna drew a breath, steeling herself, before meeting the other woman’s stare. She wasn't quite ready to divulge all her ideas, most of her thoughts were merely that -thoughts, hopes, half truths that needed more to form into fully fledged concepts. “We have to prove to Solas that this world is one worth saving. We have to lift up the elves and rebuild their kingdom.”

“Ahhhh,” Leliana said slowly, looking away with a deeply furrowed brow. “So, it will be simple then.”

Dryanna snorted humorlessly. “Precisely.”

She pushed away from the wall and moved toward the closest of the Eluvians, reaching out instinctively to touch its lightless surface before stopping herself just in time. She could feel a tingle of energy, like a surge of recognition, and it made her skin crawl.

 _There are many keys,_ the Well whispered. _You merely need to know where to look._

“We’ll begin in the Dales. We’ve more gold and influence than we know what to do with. It will go a long way into rebuilding.”

She heard Leliana shift slightly, felt the pressure of her stare. “Forgive me, my lady, but would it not be easier to hunt Solas down ourselves, stop him that way? What you suggest, well, it may prove impossible.”

Dryanna smirked and it felt sharp and dangerous on her face, her fingers still lingering just away from the Eluvian. “Closing the Breach was meant to be impossible, defeating Corypheus doubly so, and Solas… _Fen’Harel’s_ power makes an ancient Tevinter Magister look like a child with a dangerous toy.” He'd frozen the Qunari with a wave of his hand. She turned toward Leliana. “And he is not wrong, not entirely. This world _is_ broken, and my people _do_ deserve better. They most certainly deserve the truth. I believe that our best hope is to convince him that there is value in this world. That there are things worth saving.”

 _Since I was not enough_ , the shards of her heart whispered.

Leliana’s eyes grew sharp for a moment, her mind clearly turning through all their options at a lightning speed, before she nodded slowly. “You have never led us astray, my lady. Though I confess that I am… uneasy with this plan. But the Maker brought you to us, and I will not turn away from his hand. Where do we start?”

Dryanna forced herself to close the distance and pressed her bare hand to the surface of the mirror. It was warm and slithering to the touch, but she did not flinch away. “We start with the Eluvians, and a very old library, which lies somewhere between our world and the Fade. There are answers there, information that will be vital if we are to have any hope of discovering his plans. In the meantime we speak to Celene, review the old treaties before the Exalted March, see how we might rebuild the Dales.”

Leliana moved away. “Very well, I will have Josie start digging.” A stretch of silence as she moved toward the door, then: “You must let him go, Dryanna. He is beyond our reach now. I… know what it is to lose someone to a cause beyond understanding or logic, but we must do what has to be done.” Leliana placed a hand briefly on her shoulder. “Like you always have.”

Dryanna bit her lip to contain a sob, listening to the sound of receding footsteps, and rested her forehead against the Eluvian for a long while.

“Why have you gone where I cannot follow, _vehnan?_ ”

-

When she finally made it back to her rooms, most of her chests and packs already full in preparation for a much desired departure, she found a note sealed closed with a raven’s feather on her pillow.

Feeling a shiver trepidation, Dryanna fumbled it open with her hand, the feather fluttering to the ground unseen as she read the contents.

_Follow the trail through the Crossroads, I have some information you might find interesting. You’ll find the key next to my favorite wine._

_-M_

Heart pounding, Dryanna crumbled the note and tossed it into the dying embers of the hearth fire. She watched the edges crinkle and burn, motionless until the secret was consumed and gone. It was near dawn before she finally went to bed.

-

“I’ve given the patents of nobility to your Ambassador, as well as the documents required to officially grant you governance of Griffin Wing Keep, under certain limitations, of course,” Ambassador Montford said cheerily, sliding a very official bit of parchment at Dryanna across his desk. It was mid day and they'd been at it for hours already, Dryanna's patience stretching thinner with each passing moment.

“If you could sign here, the official process of granting you and your successors Skyhold might begin.”

Dryanna glanced at Josie who nodded slightly, and signed. Montford snatched it up with a flourish, rolled it carefully, and then pressed it shut with the official seal of Orlais.

“As soon as Her Majesty returns, the official ceremony shall be held, and your seat among the Council of Heralds made official.” Dryanna wondered idly how many times the man had said 'offical' since their meeting had begun.

“When is the Empress expected to return?” Dryanna asked, fiddling with the end of her sash. Gods, she was anxious, ready to finally return to Skyhold and beyond tired of diplomatic meetings. There was so much to do before winter, and she had an entire army to disband.

“Her Majesty is expected to return in six weeks-“

“Six weeks?” Josie asked, brows rising. “We were told two.”

Montford smiled and it didn’t reach his eyes. “There have been extenuating circumstances.”

Dryanna frowned leaning forward in her chair. “I hope the Empress is well.”

The Ambassador waved a dismissive hand. “Oh yes, of course. Have no fear, Your Grace, all is in place while we await her return. All that is missing is the pageantry.”

Gods, to the Void with pageantry, she thought.

“About the other matter we discussed…” Josie hinted.

Monford looked suddenly grave. “We cannot be sure Ambassador Briala will not return.”

“It has been half a year, my lord,” Josie reminded him politely.

“The Empress believes-“

“The Empress is wrong,” Dryanna snapped, unable to help herself. She could feel Josie’s scandalized stare boring into her. Dryanna ignored her. “We haven’t time to wait her out any longer, already the servants are disappearing. You need someone to rally the People before it is too late.”

Ambassador Montford fixed her with a penetrating stare. Beneath all the pleasantry and evasion, was an intelligent man, she knew, she only hoped she could make him see reason. After a long stretch of silence, in which she could feel Josie’s discomfort growing, the man nodded.

“Very well, I will be sure to personally write to the Empress addressing your concerns. There will be a meeting of the Council after the official ceremony for your seat is held, I imagine the topic might be broached then.”

Dryanna rose to her feet, muscles itching to flee.

“Thank you, Lord Montford, your help and support has been invaluable,” she said, feeling faintly proud of herself. Once upon a time all this empty pleasantry and veiled lying had been difficult for her. Wouldn’t her mother be proud? To see her adapting so beautifully to shem ways. There was a sudden sick lurch of her gut, and she told herself that someday… someday she would no longer have to play this pretty game of false smiles and hidden blades.

The Orlesian Ambassador rose to his feet, executing a perfect bow. “It was a pleasure, Your Grace, and we look forward to your return.”

She and Joise left while Dryanna wondered if that too, was a lie.

-

“I dream of him, sometimes,” Dryanna said suddenly, filling the silence of the carriage as it jostled along. The Winter Palace was several hours behind them and she finally felt as though she could breathe again.

Cassandra turned her head toward her. The Seeker was returning with them to Skyhold to gather her things before departing for the Hinterlands, and Dryanna had the sneaking suspicion that Cass was worried about her. They were all concerned, of course. She could feel them watching her carefully, looking for signs of breakage or weakness, and it rankled as much as it comforted. It was nice to be cared about, but she didn’t want to be treated like a breakable bit of glass, even if that was exactly how she felt.

“A wolf in the distance, watching me. Sometimes I reach out to him, but always he turns and runs. I didn’t understand what it meant before… but now…” she trailed off, watching the trees flit past as bright sunlight filtered through heavy branches. Autumn was still several months off, but Skyhold was almost always shrouded in snow, and she hoped that the winter would be kinder than the last.

Two years had seen a major uptick in population, a town sprouting beneath the castle almost overnight. Tents and barracks giving way to homes and shops, there was even a Chantry cathedral in the final stages of construction. Just last year they’d opened a mine surprisingly rich with gold, silver, and silverite, and there was talking of opening another. They’d also had a great deal of luck with cattle, and Skyhold being the center of the Inquisition had brought a great deal of trade and progress to the area, especially in light of the finished pass. It was quickly becoming to best way to travel between Orlais and Ferelden. Dryanna only hoped that the disbanding of the Inquisition wouldn’t destroy their steadily budding economy, though it was likely a foolish hope.

“He loves you still, then.” Cassandra whispered, a statement, not a question. Words Dryanna didn't want to hear, or even consider.

It was unlike her friend to ride in a carriage, just as it was unlike Dryanna to want to, but she hadn’t quite been able to master one-armed horseback riding in her time at the palace and the private shame of it had driven her within the gilded monstrosity Josie -who was currently riding with Leliana in another carriage- had insisted on. She suspected Cassandra had joined her for moral support, which she appreciated.

“Does it matter?” Dryanna asked, hearing the flat tone of her voice, barely feeling the words as they slipped off her tongue. She could see Thom just ahead, speaking with one of the soldiers and smiling cheerfully. It was good to see him smile, they'd been so rare after his true name had been revealed, and she was glad he hadn’t decided to leave them _–her-_ yet, though she suspected it was coming.

“Of course it matters,” Cassandra said impatiently. “It may be the only thing that matters.”

Dryanna receded into the cushions and out of the sun. “It didn’t matter before, why would it matter now.”

Cassandra was silent for a stretch, her lips pursed and her brow furrowed in thought. When she spoke at last, her words were careful.

“Solas always had the look of a man on the edge of something. I didn’t understand at the time, though Maker knows I wish I had, but I always knew it had something to do with you. He would look at you sometimes with such _sadness_ , as though he was warring with himself about something, and it was breaking him apart inside. I think… I think he nearly gave his plot up for you on several occasions, in retrospect. I could see it in the way he was occasionally more _there_ than others, which is not very descriptive I know, but I can think of no better way to explain it. And then, well, then I would watch him pull away again.”

Gods, it hurt to hear, and she gripped the edge of her seat to contain her agony. What did it matter how he had looked at her? It hadn’t changed anything.

“He would never let his feelings for me detract from his duty, he made that very clear,” she ground out, the world outside the carriage blurring as her eyes stung. She refused to cry. She had shed too many tears at his memory and she refused to give him more.

“I think you’re wrong,” Cassandra said sternly. “I think he runs from you because every second he spends with you is another step closer to giving up the path he is on. Maybe… maybe a part of him is hoping you _can_ change his mind.”

Dryanna rubbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. “I hope you’re right Cassandra. It would make this much easier if you were.”

Cassandra’s smile was sardonic and she looked back out the window, settling into her seat. “I never claimed it would be easy.”

“It never is, is it?”

“My brother used to say that nothing worth having is ever easy,” Cassandra said quietly. She rarely, if ever spoke of her brother and Dryanna smiled despite herself.

“Your brother was a wise man.”

Cassandra snorted. “He was stubborn, bullheaded, and cocky, but he did occasionally get something right.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Dryanna muttered, and dodged a gold stitched cushion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to hear more feedback, and thank you guys for reading! If you have any burning questions, those are welcome too, and feel free to harass me on Tumblr. :D


	4. His Name is Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dryanna returns to Skyhold and receives an unexpected guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a hard time with this chapter, the next was much easier and really gets things moving along, I promise.

They camped a few hours from Skyhold, spending one last night around cheery campfires, beneath clear, starry skies, pretending a little while longer that the world wasn’t about to change, again. They laughed and drank and swapped stories; Thom joked boisterously with his men, Joise won at Wicked Grace –again- and Cassandra danced, actually, physically _danced_ with Cullen who blushed and fumbled and ultimately let her lead. For several blissful hours, they were able to forget everything that had happened and everything that waited just beyond the rise and in the valley below.

To Dryanna, it felt like the deep breath before the plunge.

It was a familiar practice, however. One she’d done many times, in darker days when a green hole had haloed the world and she’d wanted just a few more minutes of the road and the freedom it offered before she had to don her ill-fitting political mask again. She liked to have a little time to regroup and spruce up before riding through town after days on the road as well, and this instance came with the added pressure of being her last ride as the Inquisitor. Her last ride before she took to her throne for the final time and unraveled everything she’d stitched together with their sweat, blood, and tears. She figured she could at least wash her face and change her clothes.

The following morning, after a nearly sleepless night, she stood near her horse, an Imperial Warmblood that Dorian had gifted her the year before, and glared. She couldn’t manage to grip the reigns and the saddle while swinging her weight up at the same time with just her one hand. Everything felt off balance and wrong and she’d nearly fallen on her ass twice, but, despite knowing she was being terribly childish, she couldn’t bring herself to ask for help.

Thom came to her rescue.

“Can I offer my assistance, my lady?” He asked with a gentle smile and Dryanna wanted to punch him in the face for being so horribly nice to her. She glowered instead.

“I’m useless,” she admitted at last, slumping in defeat.

Thom didn’t roll his eyes, but she suspected it was with a great deal of effort. He bent, cupping his hands together. “Do you remember when you took that blow to the head in Crestwood and we had to tie you to your horse?”

Dryanna scowled, placing her boot in his hands and gripping the saddle horn while putting her free foot in the stirrups. What remained of her left arm kept twitching, eager to be of assistance, but mostly it just ached and strained and made her feel horribly embarrassed.

“Yes, but that was after I killed a dragon,” she grumbled and he hoisted her up and over. It wasn’t so bad, only a little awkward with her formal dress robes, which Thom helped to arrange over the back of her horse. Josie had insisted on her formal battle gear, complete with shinny breast plate of dragon scales and royal sea silk robes, made all the more cumbersome by the circlet holding her hair in place. She hadn’t protested, not really, it was likely the last time she’d have to wear her Inquisition-emblazoned gear anyway.

The thought was less comforting than it had once been, proof that one could get used to anything.

Thom handed her the reigns as she settled, catching her wrist as she reached for them and forcing her to meet his gaze.

“And this is after you saved the entire world, _again,_ ” he told her seriously before squeezing her hand once and walking away.

Dryanna swallowed the lump in her throat and focused on getting her horse –named Pavus just to irritate Dorian- moving forward. She felt off balance and lopsided, and squeezed her thighs harder than she might have otherwise, but Pavus was forgiving and trotted dutifully forward. Leliana, Josie, and Cullen were all waiting for her at the front of the column. The soldiers watched her pass in silence, though many of them dipped their heads and touched their breastplates as she swept by. She felt as though she were about to attend her own funeral.

“Ready, my lady?” Cullen asked quietly, looking resplendent in his polished armor.

One of Cullen’s greatest abilities was to look handsome in armor; it had served to distract many the visiting noble woman and was a source of endless amusement for the rest of them. He too would likely be gone within the month, off to see the King to make his own title official, then to see and collect his family before settling in Crestwood.

“Not really, but I don’t think sulking about in the pass is an appropriate way to deal with my problems,” Dryanna said, and Cullen smiled while Leliana snorted delicately into her hand.

Josie huffed. “We’re already behind schedule, we’ve still the ceremony tonight as well as the color raising-“

“Shouldn’t that wait until I’m officially a Duchess, or whatever,” Dryanna interjected, hoping she didn’t sound whiny. Cullen’s Captains walked the lines, making sure everyone was in place, their barked orders ringing through the valley.

It had been quite a while since Dryanna had come home to so much pomp and formality; she’d always hated the reverence and veneration people bestowed upon her and two years had done little to change that. The Winter Palace had been rather refreshing, in that regard at least; most of the people at the Exalted Council hated her.

“Of course not. It’s just as Lord Montford said; you’re already a Duchess, all that is missing is the ceremony. There are of course certain limitations, but most of those revolve around marriage proposals and how you fold your napkin at dinner-“

“You’re kidding, right?” Cullen interrupted.

Josie shook her head gravely. “Orleasians never kid about napkin etiquette, Commander.”

“Great, so, we announce the dissolution tonight, then?” Dryanna’s mouth was dry. She hadn’t quite expected the moment to come so soon.

“The sooner the better, You Grace,” Leliana said, her hair bright in the sunlight.

“I’ve had preparations in the works for months to account for either outcome at the Exalted Council; everything is in place.” Trust Josie to have a party planned for whatever occasion, she thought.

Dryanna sighed, shifting in her saddle as the sun rose and speared on the peaks of the mountains above. “Let’s just… get home. I’d like a real bath and some food and then I’ll do whatever needs to be done.”

Josie nodded, eyes pitying. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Cullen called the line to attention, and they began their march. A sense of reverence fell over the party, everyone clearly lost in thought and memory. Dryanna could see the rise she’d climbed when they’d first laid eyes on Skyhold, like a mirage in a desert, with Solas by her side. Solas –the only thing anchoring her to a world she didn’t understand, the only thing even a little familiar. Not for the first time since their last encounter, between one Eluvian and the next, she wondered what Skyhold had once been, how Solas knew of it.

 _Tarasyl'an Te'las,_ the Well whispered. It was where something had started… and ended, in the lost shadows of time. There was a secret there, a past, and she wondered at its importance. One of many things she’d have to discover, she was sure.

After an hour of quiet ridding, Cassandra joined them at the front with Thom in tow. The company paused at the crest of the pass and Skyhold spread out below them. The town, haphazard and rolling, encompassed the entirety of the lake on either side. Many of the homes belonged to soldiers and their families; soldiers who would soon find themselves without a contract or living. Oh, she planned to keep a contingent or two, of course. Josie had helped her sort out the formalities involved with how many men she was allowed to retain without appearing threatening to others, which was a surprisingly large amount, but would still leave more than half her men unemployed. The mines would help, and she thought perhaps the merchant trade would continue to expand, but there was little chance that Skyhold would maintain its steady growth.

“I’ll never forget the first time I saw this place,” Cass muttered, voice rough with emotion.

Thom nodded, eyes serious. “Aye, felt like providence, even then.”

“A lot has changed since,” Dryanna added, feeling a wave of nerves roll through her.

“Come on,” Leliana said with a kind smile, “Josie is about to go into fits.”

So they descended, and when they entered the town just after midday, it was much worse than Dryanna could have anticipated.

Much, much worse.

It seemed as though nearly every soldier and citizen lined the streets. Cullen motioned their company to slow and, with a gentle smile, motioned her to take the lead. Gods, this was too much, her stress weary mind screamed.

But she could do this. She could do this for them. For all the people who had fought and died for her and believed in her despite it all. She could do this.

Sitting tall, she kicked Pavus forward as the solders on either side lifted their swords with a cry that seemed to echo and move through the mountains like a living, breathing entity. She had a sudden vison, a sudden flash of the girl she’d once been. A Dalish girl wrapped in leather with bare feet and knotted hair with slave tattoos bold on her face and a burning mark on her hand. She’d been a wild thing then, contemptuous and untrusting, wondering why in the God’s names she should help the shem with a failure they had created. There was but a shadow of that girl left. Now she was a Duchess, the first Dalish elf to be granted such a title by shem rulers in remembered history, and more lost than she had ever been.

Children and women threw flowers at her feet, bowing their heads and touching their breasts as she passed. Whispered blessing and thanks followed her like a trail of wisps as she wound her way up to the castle, haunting her with their implications. Dozens of people reached out to touch the hem of her robe or the tip of her boot, awe and reference burning in their eyes. It made her feel ashamed.

The years of tentative peace had brought thousands of pilgrims to Skyhold’s gates and Josephine had warned her that she was slowly becoming another holy relic, a shade of Andraste reborn. People were slowly starting to remember that once, long ago, Andraste had befriended and made promises to the elves in the days of Tevinter, promises that should perhaps be honored once more. The calculating part of her brain, the part she had shaped and molded for the Inquisition, knew it would be of use. She’d once shied away from the finger of providence and divinity, but it would ultimately be the hand that dealt the winning play. Assuming she could get the rest of Thedas to participate in her version of the Game.

After what felt like a lifetime, her back burning in protest, they finally made it across the bridge and into the inner bailey. Normally the inner courtyard was bustling with activity; merchants, soldiers, dignitaries and servants hustling about on their daily business in a melody of voices and dialects, but today the grounds were quiet, muted, like someone had died. The Inquisition colors flapped halfheartedly in the breeze and a stable hand came forward to gather the reigns of her horse with head dipped low. The lad was dressed in fine livery, hair carefully combed, and he bowed deeply as he neared.

“You Worship,” he said, and his hand shook as she their fingers brushed. Dryanna couldn’t quite recall his name and felt terribly about it. Horse Master Dennet had long left the Inquisition to return to his family and his farm, and it hadn’t quite been the same since. Once, she’d visited the stables as a place of solace, or to talk with Thom, but now every time she visited people tripped all over themselves to help her and it was suffocating.

Thom was at her side immediately to help her dismount, drawing her out of her melancholy like a fish on a sharp hook.

“They do know I haven’t died, right?” she muttered and he snorted a little, hiding it behind a cough as Josie shot them a glare.

“Just showing their respect, my lady,” Thom said and gallantly took her arm until she was steady on her feet, then fell in behind her in a motion that called forth a sudden idea. She would need a guard, after all; every noble house had one, and a noble house guard would need a guard _captain_. Dryanna made a mental note to speak with Josie about it later.

Cullen was at her side in a moment as they began the climb up to the main Keep.

“Leliana and I managed to convince Josie to let you have a few hours peace before you receive everyone in the main hall,” he said, shooting her a hesitant smile. Though she considered Cullen a close friend and advisor, they’d never quite crossed the line between awkward and friendly. Not that she minded. The Commander was terribly handsome and enduring when he blushed.

“How many tea parties did you promise to attend in compensation?”

Cullen grimaced. “Oh, it was much worse than tea parties. I promised to dance at the next ball we attend. I _told_ Cassandra it was a mistake to dance in front of everyone… but that woman never listens.”

Dryann watched Cullen’s body language and briefly considered the possibility that there was more going on between the Seeker and her Commander, but was almost immediately distracted by Sera bouncing on the balls of her feet at the top of the steps. Josie sucked in a horrified breath and Sera rushed forward. The elf’s blonde hair was sticking up in all directions and the left side of her face was almost entirely covered in soot.

“Quizey! Just in time ‘eh? Widdle has it all figured, now we just need your nub!” Sera said and, to Dryanna’s shock, grabbed hold of the remainder of her left arm –with the sleeve of her robe tactfully pinned. With surprising deftness, Sera whipped out a measuring tape and measured from the end of her severed arm to just past her waist, and then, without further explanation, darted off again.

“Maker’s Breath, what in the-“ Cullen began.

Dryanna raised a hand, trudging upward. “Don’t ask, I’ve learned it’s better not to ask.”

“Hopefully the Undercroft is still intact,” Leliana said dryly.

Dryanna ducked her head to hide a smile, feeling just a little surer of herself.

-

It was a close thing, but Dryanna managed to make it up to her rooms without Josie latching onto her robes and dragging her to the War Room –which really needed a new name. Leliana had distracted their Ambassador with a vital banquet emergency just long enough for Dryanna to dart away and up the steps toward her chambers. The guards there, shocked by her sudden appearance, only barely managed to open the doors in time. Now, like a miracle, she had a few blessed hours of peace to resettle and prepare herself for what was to come -though she suspected that was a feat that would take a life time.

She’d likely have to do what she’d always done –wing it.  

She stood at the top of the steps and let her gaze sweep across the room. Everything was exactly how she had left it. So why did everything feel out of place?

There was the same wide bed with wispy curtains that reminded her of clouds and tree branches swaying in the wind, the same thick carpets and lush couches, her personal desk and cluttered book shelves, her armor stand and several different staves carefully hung by hooks on the wall. Sunlight, already tinged with the promise of a swiftly descending fall, sliced through prettily painted windows and the hint of something achingly familiar began to creep in at the edges of her resolve.

Tears of relief were brimming, so she strode across the room and tore open the balcony doors to look down at the castle grounds below. The wind was cold and brisk and dried the shame of her weakness against the brim of her cheek bones. She was home. She was safe. She was broken.

A harsh laugh bubbled out of her, and she clenched her right arm across herself, gripping the sharp edge of her left elbow to keep herself from flying apart. It was hilarious, really, that she found stone and walls so comforting when only three years before they’d been suffocating and terrifying. For months in Haven and then in Skyhold she’d made a bed for herself on the floor, or even on this very balcony where she could see and feel the stars.

Peopled milled below her like ants, the Keep suddenly coming back to life with her presence carefully tucked away. She wondered why they had hid themselves, but then considered that they weren’t any more ready to face the truth than she was. In the two years since the Breach had closed they’d tirelessly repaired their home, fixing walls and towers and rooms, adding a large, more permanent stables and barracks, another garden and official bath house –insisted upon by Joise and greatly enjoyed by all- until it was more than just a fortress… it was a home. Their home. Her home. And now many of them would have to leave.

It had never truly felt like hers, however. From the beginning she’d known that Skyhold belonged to no one, at least no one living. Now, in thick expensive paper, laced with silver and gold, it was as hers as it could be. At least in name, but in spirit…

There was much to do. Too many far more pressing matters to consider than the supposed spiritual ownership of stone and earth.

“But first,” she said aloud, “a bath.”

Magic was a wonderful thing, she considered as she turned the spouts on her marble bathtub, steaming water cascading free to swirl and bubble invitingly. Another idea of Josie’s, one which had had Dryanna’s whole hearted support. Grabbing a handful of random bath salts she tossed them into the rising water, and began to undress… realizing her folly belatedly.

It was, as they say, the last straw.

She stood there, her one good hand trembling against the clasp of her cloak, which might have been the world’s most complex lock for all the luck she was having unclasping it, for an agonizing second before she lurched forward in a rush of fury and shame, sweeping everything off the nearby counter to the floor. Perfume bottles and soaps and a variety of other potions she’d acquired over the years broke with a satisfying clatter, liquid and glass glittering like jewels in the sunlight.

“Fuck this, fuck all of it,” she screamed, tearing at the cloth of her robe, which began to tear at the seams, before ripping free entirely. Her nails scratched painfully along the buckles of her breastplate until cool hands gripped hers.

She stilled, panting brokenly as she turned and came face to face with perhaps the last person she had ever expected to see again.

“A-Abelas!?”

He looked the same… mostly. The same patterns along his brow, the same angular face and translucent skin. Gone, however was hood, cloak, and armor. Now he wore the tightly wrapped leathers of a Dalish elf, his hair a brilliant white that he wore braided from the top of his scalp well down his back with the sides shaved clean.

Belatedly, she began to pull a barrier to slam between them, but, as if sensing her intentions, he quickly let her go and, with all the grace of a wolf, shut off the water. The following silence was thick and sharp enough to cut.

“How- why?” She couldn’t seem to form a coherent sentence, body trembling with the remnants of her rage and sudden adrenalin.

“Still asking the wrong questions, Inquisitor,” he said wryly, standing in the wreckage of her washroom like it wasn’t the most unnatural thing in the world.

She backed up toward the main portion of her chambers, knowing there were guards just beyond the door below who had likely already heard her scream.

As if reading her thoughts, Abelas smirked and said, “Your guards won’t be joining us anytime soon, I’m afraid. Not to worry though, they are unharmed, merely… incapacitated.”

There had been a few assassination attempts over the years. One at the Winter Palace that had been dealt with quickly and neatly, though the tiny cakes Josie so loved had been completely ruined, and another in the lower bowels of Skyhold when a note from ‘Leliana’ had lured her there. That one Dryanna had handled herself.

Abelas was armed only with a knife, strapped low on his hip, but he was very quick and very experienced. She thought, drawing her magic around her like an armor, perhaps, that she was faster. With the ease of a breath, she called flames to her hand.

“I suggest you start explaining why you are here before I burn you to a very unattractive crisp,” she said.

“Threats of violence, Inquisitor? How very… human of you.”

“Yes, well, years of having people try to kill me has changed my perspective a bit,” she snapped, the flames in her hand growing. “Why. Are. You. Here,” she repeated harshly, heart thundering in her breast.

Abelas looked her up and down with clear amusement, and leaned against her tub, reaching down to trace a finger through the water in a strangely sensual gesture. He was not quite the morose, haughty elf she remembered.

“What does the Well have to say about the matter?” he asked, glancing at her sidelong.

Dryanna scowled and raised her flame engulfed hand. “I assure you, I wasn’t bluffing when I said I would set you on fire.”

The other elf drew in a contemptuous sigh. “It’s a shame to see the Well so wasted. You haven’t a clue how to use it, do you?”

That stung a little and, as if in response, the voices in the Well rose and crested.

_Sworn to service-_

_Never really free-_

_A voice calls him now, a voice familiar but dark-_

_Where has it gone-_

Dryanna bit her lip and shook her head, trying to quiet the madness. Abelas was suddenly before her, moving faster than seemed possible, and she wondered if he was perhaps a mage, but sensed nothing from the Fade. He stood but a foot away, eyes boring down at her, _into_ her, searching inside her. They were a molten gold, hot and churning. She felt like a halla trapped in the gaze of a wolf and the flames in her hand sputtered and spent.

“The Well called,” he whispered and she could taste his breath on her lips, “and I answered. Something has changed, something vital. The Dread Wolf has returned and Mythal whispers, dark and changed.” He reached out and touched her temple, where her _vallaslin_ had once curved and flowered. A tremor started at the base of her spine, tickling along her skin where he touched her through soft leather gloves.

“You need my help, Inquisitor. Far more than you know,” he said and his finger traced lower, nearly to her lips.

The door below crashed open and Cullen’s bellowed cry broke the spell, allowing her to flinch away. “Inquisitor!”

Abelas stepped aside and past her as Cullen reached the top of the steps, a naked blade in hand and a manic expression on his face.

“I’ve much to consider, but I will return.” Abelas said as Cullen stalked toward him. “Take care, Inquisitor, there is more at stake than you know, and if you seek answers, look to the wilds. Two ravens will guide your way.”

With that, the elf dashed across the room, Cullen at his heels, and dove off the balcony with all the grace of a swimmer aiming for deep water. With a gasp, Dryanna rushed toward the edge of the railing in time to see a winged shape dart down and over the cliff-side wall.

She realized, belatedly, she'd just had an entire conversation in ancient elvish.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos give me liiiiiiiiife. Thank you so much for all the support so far!
> 
> P.S. One might recognize the stages of grief, if one is paying attention. :D


	5. The Duchess of Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dryanna sets aside the emblems of eye and sword and fashions herself as a wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some stuff that is NSFW at the end. Enjoy!

_But now we're slipping at the edge_  
_Holding something we don't need_  
_All this delusion in our heads_  
_Is gonna bring us to our knees_  
  
_So come on let it go_  
_Just let it be_  
_Why don't you be you_  
_And I'll be me_  
  
_Everything that's broke_  
_Leave it to the breeze_  
_Why don't you be you_  
_And I'll be me_

_-Let it Go, James Bay_

 

* * *

 

Josie handed her a warm cup of halla milk and Leliana ushered her to the couch, pressing her gently but insistently into the cushions. At least she’d been allowed to bathe and dress before they’d all descended on her, she mused grumpily.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Leliana asked as she, Cassandra, Josie and Cullen hovered around her like concerned mother hens. It was vaguely overwhelming, but she appreciated the concern.

Dryanna blew on her drink and sipped, grimacing a little as it burned her lips, but powering through it. “I’m fine, he didn’t hurt me,” she assured them.

Leliana eyed the disaster that had once been her washroom uncertainly, but said nothing.

“This is certainly alarming, what could it mean?” their Ambassador rambled, in a clear state of agitated nerves.

Dryanna shrugged, her range of motion limited by the heavy –and ridiculous- robes Josie had forced her into. On her breast, stitched in silver against the deep blue, was a single howling wolf, the emblem of her recently established noble house bright and challenging. It hurt her to look at, though she’d been responsible for its creation; a silent challenge, a wordless promise. One that would likely fall on deaf ears.

“Well, ‘look to the wilds’ is hardly informative, and what is this about two ravens?” Leliana scoffed, brow furrowed.

Cullen, for his part, remained thunderous and angry like a storm cloud hovering near her desk, his silence ominous, and she wondered what he was thinking. He’d refused to leave the room, even when the servants arrived to help her bathe, standing still and furious on the balcony where Abelas had made his astonishing departure.

“Fear and Deceit,” Dryanna blurted suddenly, the thought a persistent tether to something just out of reach. The Well surged with agreement, images of crows flashing bright and painful in her mind, their shrill cries an echo across time.

_You are lost and soon you will fade._

_He has abandoned you and no longer loves you._

She sipped sloppily at her drink to hide the tremor in her hand.

“What?” Cassandra pressed, voice tight and expression guarded. The Seeker could be a difficult person to read when she wanted.

Dryanna flushed. “Servants of Dirthamen, elven God of Secrets and Knowledge, or at least he is in the stories.” Now she knew that’s all they were. Stories. Lies.

They all exchanged uneasy looks.

“Does he speak of a temple perhaps?” Leliana asked at last and Dryanna could only shrug. The only elven temples she’d encountered had come at the price of desperation for the Inquisition and her mind filtered through her memories of them, searching for some clue, and coming up with very little.

“I’m not sure,” she said, a headache brewing behind her temples and the stub of her left arm aching. “I’ve encountered a number of statues that represent Fear and Deceit, he could be talking about any number of them.”

Josie pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. “Well, we haven’t time to theorize now. Everything is ready for the ceremony and the hall is overflowing.”

Cassandra let out a huff of annoyance and Leliana nodded. “We can discuss this further tomorrow, it has been a very eventful day, one that is not yet over.”

The tremor in Dryann’s hand became more pronounced and she set her cup aside, rising to her feet. They watched her, all their eyes fixated, and she forcibly pulled the scattered pieces of herself together again.

 _They fear you,_ the Well whispered, _they fear what you may become if left alone. They fear that the Dread Wolf will pull you down his path._

 _I fear it as well,_ she thought in response as Josie adjusted the fall of her hair and the set of the thin silver circlet on her brow, feeling numb and distant. _I fear I’ll lose what’s left of me._

 _You assume that you know who you are, little wolf._ A howl crested, the mocking laughter of crows persistent.

Like waking from a half sleep she snapped back to the present and nodded at them when Josie was done, unable to form her emotions or thoughts into words. Then, without preamble, she turned and descended the stairs on legs that felt boneless. Thinking about what came next was not going to make it any easier.

Nerves made her pause before the final door at the base of the tower, pressing her palm against it, as though trying to feel the pulse of the room beyond. She could hear voices like a funeral chorus and her heart was a desperate counterpoint in her chest.

Cullen placed a hand on her shoulder. “We’re with you, Dryanna,” he said quietly, earnestly. “Every step of the way.”

She glanced up and gave him a wavering smile, setting her hand over his, comforted by the answering tremble. He felt responsible, she realized. Felt that he had failed her somehow.

“Do you think my tripping and falling might ease the mood?” she asked with forced humor. Wishing Varric was there, and Dorian and-

Cassandra snorted and rolled her eyes. Josie paled and Leliana patted their Ambassador comfortingly on the arm.

“Kidding, Joise, kidding,” she assured the poor woman and rolled her shoulders and neck a few times, as if preparing for battle. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

A final breath, and she forced the muscles of her face into some sort of expression that hopefully said ‘everything is fine, I am strong, I am not afraid,’ and pushed the door open.

* * *

 

Hours later, Draynna stood in the empty darkness of the main hall with a drink in hand. She wasn’t entirely certain if it was very late, or very early, but immediately decided it didn’t matter.

Her throne – _no¸_ the _Inquisition’s_ throne- loomed above her on the dais, bulky and menacing with its sinister crown of blades. She wondered, not for the first time, how intimidating she truly looked when she sat there, dealing out death and judgment like she had any right to. She was a slight woman, she knew, taller only than Varric, and she’d always felt dwarfed in the confines of red leather and polished steal. Tomorrow it would be removed and stored with everything else emblazed with eye and sword, tucked carefully away into the recess of history.

Taking a sip of her drink, she stumbled up the steps and collapsed into the throne’s embrace, squirming uncomfortably in the seat for a moment before settling. It certainly hadn’t been built for lounging. She’d made an off handed comment about it to Varric one night as they camped in the Hissing Wastes and she would never forget what Cassandra had said, eyes fixated on the campfire flames.

“A throne should never be comfortable. A throne should always be difficult and painful to sit upon.”

Varric had scoffed a little. “I don’t think the Orlesian’s agree, Seeker.” They’d received a throne made in the Orlesian style as a gift from the Empress shortly after the events at Halamshiral and it was practically _made_ of cushions.

But Cassandra hadn’t been baited and she’d gripped Dryanna in a piercing stare. “It should always be hard to judge others, when it becomes easy, you’ll know you’ve lost your way.”

Whether the Seeker had been directing the statement at Dryanna, or herself, she’d never been entirely able to decide. Either way, judging people had slowly become a necessary, but never easy, evil.

With a sloppy swirl of her wrist, Dryanna drained her glass, pulling a face as the liquid burned her throat.

It was an Orlesian wine, bitter and dry, but it had been one of Morrigan’s favorites. With a brief, contemplative frown, she let the glass roll slowly from her fingers. To her surprise, it didn’t break, but merely clinked down the steps and across the hall, catching the moonlight brightly as it rolled before it was swallowed by shadow. She lifted her hand and surveyed the amulet that swung from her fingers; an amulet she’d found behind the now empty bottle of Orlesian wine deep in the bowels of Skyhold’s buttery. It was plain, made of some sort of white speckled black stone, but surprising powerful. It had nearly scared the shit out of her when she’d touched it and a venerable bomb of magic detonated inside her like Dragon’s Fire –which, incidentally, had been her original justification for procuring the wine. A cursory probe with her own magic told her the talisman was unbreakable and untraceable and probably made with blood-magic, further evidence that whatever Morrigan was up to, it was likely to cause her a great deal of trouble.

Resting her arm along the edge of the throne she sank into herself, staring down the length of the hall. The hearth fire burned low near the main doors, casting only the faintest light, a pinprick of warmth in the distance like a wish just out of reach. The moon was a sliver against the windows behind her, its illumination muddy and the shadows long and deep as they twisted around columns and tables, slithering and hissing at the corners of her vision. A human would have had difficulty seeing, but to her the world was merely cast in shade of grey.

Hazily, she remembered the first time she had sat in this abomination of a chair; carefully unearthing the memory and dusting it off to examine with new eyes.

When they’d asked her to judge the Mayor from Crestwood, Dryanna had immediately gone to Solas. It had taken a bit of effort, but after Haven, they had grown close, closer, in fact, than she had ever anticipated. Those days had been filled with a sort of singing tension that vibrated between them anytime they happened to be in the same room, no matter the actual physical distance between them. It was his advice she’d sought more and more often, not only because he was wise, but because his presence soothed her even as it made her heart race.

“You are the Inquisitor, _lethallan_ , it is your duty to administer the Inquisition’s justice,” he said in her memory, smiling at her faintly, almost indulgently.

This did little to ease her anxiety. “What do I know of human customs and politics?” she demanded, pacing his circular study like a cat in a cage.

Solas studied her for a long moment, then surprised her by asking, “How would the Dalish handle such a matter?”

It made Dryanna pause. As the First of her clan, she’d been destined to one day lead them. She’d spent nearly all her life learning their customs and traditions and stories, but the problem just seemed so terribly human in comparison and she couldn’t fathom how to reconcile the two spheres. It was a dilemma she had struggled with often.  

“A-a Keeper would listen to the man’s story,” she said hesitantly, feeling very young and foolish, “consider what he said very carefully, weigh the options, then pray to Mythal for guidance before making a decision.”

“And if the Gods are silent?” Solas prompted with the faintest hint of contempt. He knew as well as she that the Gods were always silent, but paying the proper respect was important, or so she’d been told.

“Then the Keeper would decide what the best course was for the clan, and make the best choice they could.”

Solas lifted a brow and she flushed, knowing what he would say next before he said it.

“There is your answer, then. The Inquisition is not so different from a Dalish clan, they too pray to a silent God and turn to mortal minds to make the ultimate resolutions.”

“That’s hardly comforting,” she grumbled until he set a hand, warm and electric, on her shoulder.

“They are confident that you are capable,” he’d said softly, tone affection, “And so am I.”

Dryanna shoved the memory aside, chest aching, and the Well whispered, reaching out to her in the night.

 _Fen’Harel was the voice of the people, the swift vengeance of those who were oppressed. His failure must be crushing, to see his people fallen so far at his hand._ It was a soft voice, indistinct and tinged with longing. _Is it madness to try? Must we accept failure rather than tempt fate again?_

Dryanna had once told him, what felt like decades ago, that if she failed to make the world better, she would simply try again until she got it right. They felt like the words of a child now, and she’d never expected them to take on such a prophetic weight.

Had that moment been the tipping point?

In small steps and words and gestures, she’d set Solas more and more on the path he felt destined to take. She thought of Abelas, wondering if he would truly return, and when, part of her hoping he would and the other dreading it. Her fear of the Well was matched only by her desire for information, and they were at constant war within her. After spending a lifetime as a mage afraid of possession, the voices inside her unnerved her far more than she cared to admit.

Her chest grew suddenly warm and the locket between her breasts thrummed. With a drunken jerk, she shoved Morrigan’s charm into the pocket of her trousers and fished the necklace out of her tunic.

She pressed a thumb to the jewel and Dorian’s voice reached out to her from across the world like a lifeline.

“I felt certain you were thinking of me and desperately missing my irreplaceable presence in your life,” he drawled, his voice so clear and familiar, he might have been sitting next to her.

Dryanna rolled her eyes helplessly.

“Your intuition is infallible, as always,” she said tonelessly.

“You sound positively miserable, but I have just the thing to brighten your day. Er-night? Maker, did I wake you?” He almost sounded contrite, which was enough to tug a smile out of her.

“Oh yes, would you like to know what I’m wearing?” she teased with mock sensuality.

Dorian snorted. “Knowing you it is a large, stained tunic in a terrible color, but you’re sidetracking me with your lack of feminine wiles.”

“Hey,” she protested. “I have many wiles, it is hardly my fault that you are immune.”

Dorian chuckled. “Yes, yes, you’re a beacon of female sexuality. Now, do you recall my comment about recreating the Eluvians?”

A thrill, slowed somewhat by the alcohol in her veins, crept through her. “I’ve a few thoughts on the topic as well.”

“That’s my girl,” he said affectionately.

It was near dawn before she finally collapsed in her bed, but she went down with a smile.

* * *

 

Things began to move at a lightning fast pace.

The dissolution of the Inquisition rippled across Thedas like a clap of thunder, leaving them to flounder in its wake. Morrigan's amulet was a heavy weight in her pocket; too heavy to ignore completely, but she wasn't quite ready to dive into that pool of madness just yet.

In her defense, her time was almost entirely consumed by the reorganization of Skyhold and everything it implied. Being a Duchess, she quickly learned, was a very big deal.

It ranked her just below the Empress herself and made Dryanna a political peer to her cousin, the Duke Gaspard. In the madness following the Exalted Council, she hadn’t paid much attention to the broad implications, but now they left her in a muted state of shock. It was, in many ways, a step down in power from the Inquisition, but in other’s it cemented her influence -not to mention she was, officially, Orlesian, which made her a bit itchy around the collar, if she were being honest.

For instance, she discovered that her duchy would likely extend, as if by providence, into the Exalted Plains. An area which had been largely unmanaged in the wake of the Orlesian civil war and for nearly a decade prior, torn apart by one conflict after another. There were contingencies, of course, and it was all still in the process of being formalized, but Josie was certain they still had Celene’s ear in many ways. Besides, she could see the clever machinations behind it, the subtle but obvious ways in which the Empress continued to recall her people back to a time when Andraste had freed the world from Tevinter with the blood of The People. It gave her the smallest shred of hope.

It left Dryanna as, without a doubt, the most powerful elf in all Thedas, and many were displeased.

“Already several houses are disputing your patency,” Josie told her over breakfast in her rooms several days after she’d officially ended the Inquisition.

Dryanna licked the jam from her fingertips thoughtfully. Already the kitchens had begun to accommodate her needs, making her food easy to consume with just one hand. She’d also been assigned someone to help her dress and bathe; nice women who were kind if not overly polite. The thoughtfulness rankled as much as it touched her.

“And this is a surprise?” she teased.

Joise smiled. “Not at all, but the distrust of elves runs deep and, as memory of the Breach and Corypheus fades, it will continue to grow.”

“What would you suggest?”

“It will all depend upon your first Council meetings. You must do as you have been doing; play the Game by their rules, but play it better.”

Dryanna snorted. “A tall order, I’ve mostly fumbled my way through one political fiasco after another.”

“You continue to give yourself so little credit, my lady,” Josie reprimanded her, tone sincere enough to make Dryanna flush and duck her head.

“Now that you are a Duchess, however, there are other things to consider, like establishing a proper household hierarchy.”

Dryanna raised a brow. “Meaning?”

Josie shuffled through the armful of missives and messages she was rarely without, and pulled free a particular page.

“We have many offices already in place,” she said, “but you will need to fill many of the more… _administrative_ positions. For instance -you will need to declare a Steward, a Chamberlain, and perhaps a Marshal. Not to mention the reorganization of your military ranks, to include a personal guard, and as a Duchess of the realm, you are entitled to an outfit of Chevalier.”

Dryanna blinked at her owlishly, and forced a mouthful of toast down a suddenly dry throat. “Joise, I barely know what any of that entails.”

Joise chuckled lightly. “Fortunately for you, and with the help of the Divine and Leliana, I have comprised a list of possible candidates.” She handed Dryanna the parchment and she looked over the names, shaking her head. She recognized only one name, and that was merely in passing.

“Joise, I have no idea who these people are. Couldn’t you or Leliana serve as my Steward or… one of those other things?” she asked helplessly.

Josie looked suddenly uncomfortable. “You bring to light at more… personal matter, I’m afraid.”

Dryanna braced herself for something she knew she should have seen coming.

“Now that you are a Duchess and a member of the Orlesian court, you will no longer need an Ambassador,” Josie began, not quite looking at her and speaking in an uncharacteristic rush. “And well, I’d hoped, in light of recent events, that I might return home –my sister is at it again of course, running wild and unchecked, and my poor brothers-“

Dryanna rose to her feet and placed her hand on Josie’s arm. “It’s alright Josie,” she said, even though it really wasn’t, a bubble of panic swelling in her gut. Josie had taught her nearly everything she knew of human politics and etiquette, not to mention had become one of her closest friends, and she wasn’t at all certain how she was supposed to manage the inevitable shit-storm looming on the horizon without her. “I understand. It was selfish of me to think you could remain here forever. You’ve helped me so much over the past years, it’s time I started to make my own way.”

Josie blinked rapidly, eyes glistening. “Oh, I don’t truly wish to leave I hope you know that. I hate to abandon you to the Orlesians and I swear on the Maker I will not depart until I’m certain you have everything in order.”

“I have complete faith in you,” Dryanna said honestly.

Josie’s smile was sheepish and she fluttered a hand. “It is far too early the in the day for emotional breakdowns.”

Dryanna nodded gravely. “I completely agree. Now tell me about these people you’d like to me employ, also, I have a few thoughts about my personal guard.”

* * *

 

Locating Thom was harder than she had anticipated.

He was not at the stables –she’d hoped that old habits had died hard- or at the tavern. He wasn’t at the barracks or the training grounds, and she was about to give up when Cullen caught her near the gardens.

“Your Grace,” he greeted with a slight bow.

“Please, Cullen, it took me an age to get you to stop calling me ‘Your Worship,’ let’s not start all over again.”

His smile was crooked, but amused. “I suppose you have enough people throwing themselves at your feet.”

“Quite.” She drew him toward a small alcove. “Is there something you needed?”

“Ah, yes. Well, I’m not sure how to put this, I _tried_ to tell him it wasn’t the best idea, that you’d likely need he and his men, but he was insistent-“

“Cullen, perhaps it is best if you just… spit it out,” she prompted kindly.

He broke off, looking sheepish, and rubbed at the back of his neck -a clear sign that he was uncomfortable.

“Captain Sutherland approached me,” he admitted, “and asked if he and his men might accompany me to Ferelden… as my personal guard.”

Draynna’s answering smile was sincere, and she felt oddly relieved. For a moment there, she’d been afraid he was speaking of Thom. Sutherland was a great Captain, certainly, he and his merry band of had risen through the ranks almost inconspicuously until they became almost invaluable, but that had been during the war. Now she had more soldiers and men than she knew what to do with, and while she’d intended to find a place for Sutherland, this was probably a much better use of his talents and time.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Cullen,” she said, and he visibly relaxed.

“Truly? I know how valuable he’s been to you-“

“I can think of no better service he could provide me than protecting one of my closest friends.”

Cullen flushed a little, then straightened. “Thank you, Your G- Dryanna, I won’t be leaving for several weeks yet, but I hope you know that no matter what comes, or the distance between us, you will always remain a close friend.”

Not at all in the mood for another emotional display in the same week, let alone in the same day, she said: “Does that mean you’d be willing to play a round of Wicked Grace before you leave?”

Cullen surprised her by laughing. “I suppose it’s about time I challenged Lady Montilyet to a rematch. She’s still far too smug.”

“Perhaps she merely enjoyed the consequences,” Dryanna teased and, for her part, thoroughly enjoyed the scarlet color his ears turned.

She took pity on him, biting back her smile. “I don’t suppose you know where I might find Ser Rainer, do you?”

Cullen seemed grateful for the change in topic. “I, ah, believe he mentioned something about packing his things.”

Dryanna frowned. “Packing?”

“Ah, yes, something about a pressing duty? I’m not entirely certain I caught his meaning.”

Dryanna sighed. Wonderful, she thought, someone else who couldn’t wait to escape her presence, which she knew was utter, petulant nonsense, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to not take things personally.

“Thank you, Cullen. I will see you this afternoon for the council.”

“My lady,” he said.

She was so preoccupied, she almost didn’t catch his worried stare as she slipped through the garden, hoping no one would stop her. It was a look she was becoming accustomed to.

* * *

 

Thom had taken one of the rooms in the eastern most tower of the castle. It took Dryanna an age to find it, between wrong turns and an endless stream of messengers it took the better part of an hour. His door, when she finally found it, was slightly ajar and she could hear the sound of rustling from within.

“Knock, knock,” she called, and pushed on the door a bit.

Thom raised his head, an old tunic clutched in his hands and smiled. He pulled the door open for her and she stepped inside. The room was small, but cozy and neat, like him.

“Ah, my lady, I had hoped to see you before I left,” he said.

Dryanna frowned at him. “I most certainly hope so! I would have been very upset if you hadn’t.”

He seemed flattered, which she had a hard time understanding. Did he think she did not value his friendship? There had certainly been a period of adjustment when the truth of his past came to light, but she’d assumed that was long behind them. Looking at him now, however, she could see clearly, for perhaps the first time that it would never truly be done for him, not really. It was a debt he intended to spend the rest of his life attempting to repay and the realization of it took the fight out of her.

“I confess,” she said, stepping further into the room. “That I came here to ask if you would remain as Captain of my guard.”

Thom’s sharply indrawn breath drew her gaze. “My lady, I’m honored. You’ve done nothing but show me kindness, far more than I deserve but-“

“You can’t stay,” she finished sadly.

It was his turn to look away, wearing his familiar somber expression. “I’ve still more people to make amends to… and well, I think, now that the Inquisition is done and gone, that my presence here will likely prove more of a hindrance than a help. You may have forgiven me, my lady, but Orlais has not.”

Dryanna’s anger rose despite herself. “Damn Orlais, they do not get to decide who my friends are.”

His smile was grateful, if not sad. “Aye, perhaps you are right, but you’ll have to play by their rules if you hope to make a difference.”

“You sound like Joise,” she grumbled, eliciting a short, deep laugh.

“A smart woman. And I’ll not be gone forever, I swear it. I-” he hesitated a moment before finishing, “I’ll stay if you truly wish me to, but I feel it only fair that you consider the consequences.”

Dryanna studied him for a moment, knowing that he _would_ stay if she asked him to. Knowing that he would do a great many things if she asked it of him; it was there in the warmth of his eyes and their shared knowledge that his bed was but a foot away.

He’d never pressed her, not once, but the silent invitation had been there since their first days in Haven. It had been tempting before, and it was tempting now -more tempting than she cared to admit. It had been a long time… far too long, since someone had touched her, held her, fucked her, and she’d always thought Thom would do a credible job. But there had always been a dozen reasons not to.

There was the _possibility_ that she was afraid, though she hated to admit it. She’d never lain with a shem man before –truth be told she’d lain with very few men at all- and while the idea had a deliciously taboo flavor to it, she felt it would be a disservice to him and their friendship to chase that feeling of rebellion.

 _Kingdoms have fallen in the face of elven beauty and power, you could bring this man and the world to their knees if you desired,_ the Well whispered darkly, and she was ashamed that the words made her blood sing and her thighs clench. But they also made her mind up for her.

She offered him a wavering smile and he returned it, clearly reading the train of her thoughts, and she was grateful he did not press her even as a part of her wished he would. Wished _someone_ would.

“Well, do you have any recommendations then? I confess I’m a little out of my arena.”

Thom chuckled and steered her out of his room. “Come on, we can discuss it over an ale.”

* * *

 

Their arcanist was waiting for her in the Undercroft, Sera mysteriously and surprisingly absent. Dryanna told herself she wasn’t worried about this being some elaborate prank, but it wasn’t very convincing and she searched the shadows suspiciously.

“I’ve only a few minutes, Dagna,” she said, fighting back a smile at the obvious enthusiasm on the dwarf’s face.

“Of course, you’re very busy, firing people and all that,” she grimaced. “Sorry, I mean I _completely_ understand, but I really like working here and I’d prefer not to be kicked out the gates-“

“Dagna, you're not being fired, Sera would kill me, also you're rather useful to have around,” Dryanna said, trying not to sound exasperated. It had been another very long day.

“Right, sorry, okay,” the dwarf latched onto her arm and dragged her forward toward a very cluttered work bench that looked as though it had recently caught fire.

It took Dryanna only a moment to understand what was happening –she would have realized sooner, what with Sera measuring her arm and all, but she’d been distracted since and hadn’t given it much thought- and a shiver of trepidation washed over her. It felt as though someone had walked across her grave.

Dagna lifted an elaborate silver arm, crafted of what appeared to be silverite and dragon scale, the craftsmanship very impressive. It was surprisingly elegant, the curves precise and smooth and the fingers perfect in their representation, yet there was a hint of danger and menace, like a subtle warning. Subconsciously, she reached for left elbow arm, feeling the blunted end beneath the cloth of her tunic.

“It’s not quite finished, and I have a dozen other designs, but I liked this one best -it said ‘the Duchess of Wolves’ to me,” she waved the metal arm dramatically. “You know, pretty _and_ deadly. Kind of like you!” Dagna gushed, her face clearly begging for her appreciation.

Dryanna didn’t know what to think.

It was clearly a master work of metal and Dagna must have labored day and night to have it crafted so quickly, but she felt uneasy. Embarrassed, she supposed, if she felt like being honest with herself –which she rarely was these days.

Mostly she walked around Skyhold trying to behave as though nothing had changed, as though the only reason she hadn’t picked up the hilt of her enchanted sword or her practice staff was because she was just too busy to keep with her training. Everyone else seemed happy to comply, sensing her unwillingness to discuss her new handicap just as they’d accepted that they should never, _ever_ mention a certain elven apostate unless absolutely necessary.

Dagna looked crestfallen as the silence grew. “You don’t like it, do you? I told Sear you might not want it, but she insisted that you’d eventually want one, and I had all these really great ideas for enchantments. With the right magic and some experimentation, we might even be able to get it to _move_ -“

“Dagna, it’s beautiful,” Dryanna interrupted her, opting for that bit of truth, at least. “I just… don’t really know what to say. I suppose I hadn’t really come to terms with the whole idea of it being, you know… _gone_.”

The dwarf studied her for a moment before giving a mysteriously decisive nod. “I understand, but I think you should let me fit you for it, and when you’re ready… it’ll be here.”

Dryanna felt a wave of relief and smiled. “I think that is a great idea, thank you Dagna.”

She sat at the work bench, looking out past the forge and to the cascading roar of the water, attempting not to focus on the sensation of Danga unfastening the cuff pin that kept the excess sleeve out of her way, or the strangely intimate sensation of someone touching the sensitive skin beneath it.

“Where’s Sera?” she blurted as Danga began to fasten and measure the buckles of the mental arm. It felt cold and unwelcome against her skin.

“Something about having to teach Rainer a lesson about leaving again,” she muttered, small deft fingers working quickly.

“Ah, I see. The pies again?”

“Probably, though she’s developed a recent fondness for horse dung.”

“You’re a lucky woman, Danga,” she said and caught the dwarf’s answering smirk from the corner of her eye.

Dryanna was almost able to convince herself that she wasn't jealous. No, not at all.

* * *

 

Sleep had been her enemy for a long time.

During the war, nightmares and demons had plagued her constantly, making sleep, when it finally came, restless and broken. Solas had given her potions and herbs, and they had helped, but then he’d left and her fear of sleep became something else entirely.

Oh, she was still haunted by the things she’d seen and done, but something else gnawed on the fringes of her consciousness: loneliness. It still amazed her, sometimes, how she could constantly be surrounded by people and still feel as though she were miles and miles away from them.

The night after her visit with Dagna, she lay in bed for hours, the events of the day swirling around her like a fine mist. She’d gone over the list of names for her new household with Leliana and Josie after dinner, agreeing to basically entrust her estate to people she had never met before; lesser sons and daughters of other noble houses that they were insistent she could trust. Dryanna hoped they were right, as she was coming to realize that she had little choice in the matter.

Decisions had been made and letters drafted, all while Skyhold remained in a muted but persistent state of upheaval. She’d patiently dealt with one concern after another, assuring as many people as she could that no one would be forced from their homes and that she was working on accommodating as many people as she could. If she was truly going to be given the Exalted Plains, she would need people to help her rebuild, after all.

All of that, however, was background noise to the aching pulse in her veins that thrummed from her chest to her cunt, hot and cruel. Her afternoon with Thom had woken the basest needs in her, the ones she tried to ignore, but sometimes couldn’t.

She avoided pleasuring herself. Not because she had any strange moral objections to it, but because it was usually impossible for her _not_ to think of Solas. They’d never had sex, not really. They’d gotten close on several occasions, but he’d always managed to extricate himself before it could truly happen. He’d touched her, though, with mouth and tongue and hands in a way no one else ever had, his magic singing through hers until she was nothing but the pleasure he gave her. It had become addictive in the short time they’d had together, and two years later she still felt the pang of withdrawals.

Mewling pathetically, she let her hand slide down the plane of her stomach and part the curls between her legs. Wet heat made the press of her fingers delicious and enticing, the aching bead of her clit hard and begging against the tip of her finger. Dryanna wet her lips, knowing the fight was already lost, and wishing only that she had a second hand to tease her nipples. Solas had been very attentive of her breasts; pressingly them together, licking and nipping at their tips, kissing every curve and leaving red marks in his wake.

Her legs slid apart, limp and willing, and she dipped one then two fingers into the tight grip of her cunt. Her muscles clenched, desperate for something to hold onto, to fill the hollow spaces inside her, as she pumped the digits slowly in and out of herself. It had been weeks, perhaps months since she’d allowed herself this weakness, and already she felt embarrassing close to completion.

Knowing she would regret it, she let herself think of him, pretending she even had a choice, and it was like releasing the seal on a swollen dam.

She thought of his breath panting in her ears as he’d fucked her with his fingers, thumb rubbing expertly at her clit until she’d come completely undone. She thought of the elven words he’d pressed into the skin of her neck, words she hadn’t understood then, but the Well translated for her now with precise cruelty.

_So tight, so hot, so wet, my heart. For me. Just for me._

_You’re so beautiful. How I ache to fuck you, to possess you, body and soul. You belong to me, always, my heart. Always._

_No other man will make you feel as I can, make you come as I will._

_Let go for me, my heart, yes, like that, fuck._

She gasped loudly into the silence of her bedroom, and it turned into a moan as she changed the angle of her hand, hitting a spot inside her that made heat tremble beneath her skin like flames beneath water, dangerous and hot.

Distantly, she could feel the flare of her magic reaching out toward the Fade, but she was helpless to stop it as her wrist pumped and her hips arched and bucked. The sounds her cunt made were obscene and erotic, and they made her feel feral and wild, like a caged creature finally set free, snarling and biting.

His name echoed through her mind like a benediction; begging the Dread Wolf to take her, mark her, fuck her.

Gods, _please._

“Solas,” she said aloud on a high whine of need. “Solas, please.”

Her eyes were shut and the faintest green tinged the corners of her mind. She was close, so close.

A growl, low and full of warning, played in her ear and the fingers that stroked the burning, wet core of her were suddenly no longer her own. She felt, for a moment, as though she were floating, suspended somewhere between the Fade and reality, until sensation returned like a wave crashing against sharp rocks.  

If she’d not been so lost and dazed, she might have been shocked from her euphoria by the sensation of lips on her neck, teeth raking down the leaping pulse point and distended tendons. She might have panicked at the pinch and twist of familiar fingers on her nipples, followed by a persistent, hot mouth sucking and laving with tongue and teeth. But she was lost, broken, floating… nothing but air and light as _his_ hand dipped between her legs and fucked her as though he might die if she didn’t’ come. As if her pending orgasm was the only thing keeping him alive as his breath panted between her breasts as his skin melded to hers.

 _“Ar lath ma, vhenan,”_ he groaned into her ear, the press of his body so sweet and real against hers that she flew a part with a wailing cry that echoed inside her like the toll of a bell.

She was nothing. She was gone. She was the space between each breath and the thought between waking.

Reality returned slowly.

Bits and pieces at a time.

The feel of the bed beneath her, the gentle touch of the sheets against her fevered skin, the sweep of the breeze from an open window. When she opened her eyes at last, panting and stunned, it took her several long minutes to recall who and where she was.

Gods help her, but when she did the pain was swift and terrible, leaving her a quaking mess in the dampness of her sheets. She rolled to her side, trying to contain the blast, sobbing so hard her ribs creaked and her spine ached as she gripped herself with her remaining arm, feeling as though something were trying to tear her heart out from the inside. Never in her life could she recall such a pain, such a perfect, terrible agony.

Through her all-consuming sadness she could taste the faint flavor of his regret, his sorrow, and it turned to an acidic well of bitterness in her gut.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did any of that count as plot? Did that last bit count as smut? Eh. Whatever. 
> 
> Next chapter; we find out who the new arrivals at Skyhold are and Dryanna gets the courage to test Morrigan's amulet. 
> 
> Shout out to the few people who are following this story, you're amazing and I love you. I mean that. I meeeeeeean it. 
> 
> *is a creep*
> 
> (PS: would appreciate some feedback on the smut... I don't write it often, heh.)


	6. Wolf Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, it’s only to trick people into believing I’m humble and magnanimous. In reality I take credit for the entire thing. I defeated Corypheus single-handedly, of course,” she said, and took a drink of wine, enjoying the heat it created in her belly.
> 
> Gods, she was dangerously close to flirting.

 

Dryanna helped Scout Harding set the last Eluvian against the wall of the cell and stepped back with a sigh, sweeping her tunic sleeve over her sweaty brow despite the ever-present chill of the dungeons.

“That’s forty three, I think,” Harding said with relief, a sea of black mirrors staring back at them.

“Thank the Gods for that,” Dryanna said and put her back to a wall, sliding down till her backside met cold stone. A guard handed her a flask which she took gratefully. They’d been at it for hours. Carefully counting and organizing the Eluvians by size and the region in which they had been acquired. A task that was too important for her not to oversee personally, no matter how much Leliana assured her otherwise.

 _Even Fen’Harel cannot control all paths,_ the Well whispered. _They are too many over too great a distance, but you must tread careful, his eyes will be everywhere._

“What do you intend to _do_ with all of these?” Harding asked, squatting next to her, and she mentally pressed the voices aside.

Truth be told, she wasn’t entirely sure _what_ she intended to do with them. “Better in our hands than someone else’s.” Which was the truth, but not the entirety of it. Not with Morrigan’s pendant burning a hole in her pocket. 

“Aren’t they a bit… _dangerous_ to keep around?”

Dryanna grunted, turning slightly to one side as she fished half a dozen runes out of her pocket. They were simple things, made of wood and bits of glass, but she’d spent three nights making them. It was safer than sleeping, these days.

“Cullen and I designed these to put a permanent sort of Silence on the room, should keep anyone from activating them.” Even an elven god.  

Harding frowned, taking one in hand and turning it over. “How does that work?”

“I’ve seen it done, once, but it’s a complicated spell. Took some experimentation, but I think Dagna and I managed to get it right. It requires some magic and some Templar cooperation, which we are fortunate enough to claim. These ones aren’t charged yet, of course.” Cullen would bring some of the remaining Templar recruits down tonight and they would see to charging the runes; Dryanna had no intention of being so close to powerful Silencing magic if she could avoid it.

“Of course,” Harding parroted with a smirk.

Dryanna rolled her eyes, and handed the other woman another half dozen runes from her other pocket. “Help me set them up?”

“I hope you know I deserve a raise,” Harding grumbled and rose to her feet, eyeing the runes and mirrors with blatant suspicion.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Dryanna said, mostly to herself, and rose reluctantly to her feet.

 ---

Josephine was waiting for her at the doors of the main hall, her smile turning to a frown when she caught sight of Dryanna making her way up the steps.

“You’re covered in dirt, Your Grace,” she said with forced cheeriness.

Dryanna smirked and fluttered her tunic, releasing a cloud of gray that obscured the world around her. Josie took a step back and waved a hand in front of her face, looking alarmed and mildly scandalized.

“I was helping Scout Harding in the dungeons. Did you need me for something?”

Josie coughed delicately and Dryanna almost felt bad for being amused. Her Ambassador had always worked so hard to make her appear charming and refined and she was always finding ways to ruin it. Soon, she would have to make due on her own.

“Ah yes, well, guests have recently arrived and are anxious to meet you.”

Dryanna frowned and glanced up at the sun. It hung above the castle like a jewel in a crown, dazzling and bright, but its heat had already begun to wane in face of a windy autumn. Despite the warning chill, it was a beautiful day; birds chirping, children laughing and playing, and a general sense of calm and peace, a sensation that she hadn’t felt in so long she barely recognized it for what it was.

“I didn’t realize we were expecting anyone.”

Josie pursed her lips. “We weren’t, not right away, but it appears they have arrived early.”

“Who is _they_?”

Josie’s reply was interrupted by a sweet, aristocratic voice. “Oh, Your Grace, it is so lovely to see you again!”

A vaguely familiar woman in a deep red dress with a wolfish mask glided toward them with elegant strides, her white blonde hair gleaming like burnished gold. It was so hard to tell the damned Orlesian’s apart with the masks covering half their faces, and Dryanna looked to Josie in a mild state of panic as the pretty woman dipped into a low curtsy.

As usual, Josie was there to save the day.

 “Your Grace, may I present Lady Fleur Deveraux, though I’m sure you recall meeting her at the Winter Palace,” there was a hint of warning in her tone, as if she might be in trouble if she _didn’t_ remember and better act as though she did either way. “The Empress has sent her personally to serve as your Lady of Chambers.”

Dryanna, now understanding Josie’s alarm at her state of dress, flushed as Lady Fleur rose to her feet. “It is a true honor, Your Grace.”

Dryanna wet her lips and fought for a smile, wracking her brain to remember as much as possible from their conversations at the Winter Palace. To be fair, it had been a very stressful evening. “It is we who are honored, my lady.”

“She looks quite overwhelmed, doesn’t she, Lady Montilyet?” said a masculine voice and Michael de Chevin came striding toward them, a broad grin on his handsome face. He wore fine armor emblazoned with lions and clutched the hilt of his sword as he executed a perfect bow. “Your Grace, it is a pleasure to see you once more. I hope I can be of service.”

Josie blushed prettily and Dryanna made a mental note to tease her over it later. “You as well, my lord. I’d hoped you would be willing to help me, I know that with the Empress’s pardon you’d likely have better things-“

“I know very well who I have to thank for that pardon, Your Grace,” Michael interrupted, his cerulean eyes intense as they bore into hers, “and I would be honored, thankful even, if you would allow me to repay my debts.”    

It was Dryanna’s turn to feel a little hot under the collar and she swallowed thickly. “I could think of no better man to appoint as Captain of my house guard, thank you, Ser Michael, truly.”

His answering smile was warm enough that Dryanna had to look away before she turned into a ridiculous blushing courtier herself. Perhaps she should refrain from teasing Josie, all things considered.

Josie motioned them inside and Lady Fleur linked her arm enthusiastically with Dryanna’s, despite the fact she truly _was_ covered in dust and dirt and dressed in worn trousers, shirt, and tunic, with her hair likely a wild mess.

“Skyhold is so massive and wonderfully archaic, like the old story book fairy tales,” Lady Fleur gushed, taking in the main hall as Josie led the way to her office. It was rather impressive, at least to her simple, far less cultured eyes. Gone were the Inquisition emblems and the warm golds and reds, replaced by wolves, masks, and silver curtains and hangings that fluttered mysteriously in a breeze.

“I’m rather fond of it,” Dryanna conceded, running her mind through the list of names Josie had presented her with and trying to remember if ‘Fleur Deveraux’ had been present.

She didn’t think so. Which either meant the Empress was showing them a great deal of favor… or she was sending one of her most loyal spies to keep an eye on them. It was well done, either way. Fleur was –or Dryanna supposed _had_ been- the Empresses most trusted hand-maiden and they couldn’t refuse the appointment without appearing crass and ungrateful. Fleur was… pleasant enough. Though it was a little like throwing a prim, pretty peacock into a chicken coop. Dyranna wasn’t at all sure how the delicate woman would adapt to harsh winters, occasional rough living, and uncouth ‘peasants’. 

She met Josie’s eye as Michael held the door open for them, and knew her Ambassador was thinking along the same lines.  

They would have to be careful in the future.

Very careful.

\----

If Dryanna thought having Josie and Leliana occasionally poking their noses into her closet was exasperating she was in no way prepared for the force of nature that was Lady Fleur.

“We’re going to have to order you an entirely new wardrobe. Everything you own is at _least_ two seasons behind court fashion,” Fleur declared as several serving women deposited the contents of her closet on her bed, occasionally throwing her apologetic smiles.

Dryanna swallowed, faintly intimidated by the elegant woman, though she’d rather die than admit it to anyone, especially Sera, who was currently examining her lace and silk under things, which Leliana had insisted on and Dryanna had never worn.

“Ah, are you sure that is _entirely_ necessary?” she managed.

Lady Fleur’s smile was gracious, but her eyes were steely. “You’re a member of the Imperial court now, Your Grace, and that requires a certain level of observance when it comes to fashion trends and your ability to play the Game.”

Dryanna nodded, helplessly watching as boxes were brought in to package her things away. “What will you do with it all?” In the corner of her eye, Sera was slipping a pair of fancy, black lace undergarments over her head.

“Give the useful bits away to those in need, sell the more… _expensive_ dresses to the tailors so they might reuse the fabrics,” Fleur said easily, shaking her head at a pair of stockings that a maid held up for her to examine. She seemed adept at ignoring Sera’s antics, at least, as the other elf smiled and made an obscene gesture from beneath something that was likely meant to cover her crotch.

Fleur must have read something on her face, however, and came suddenly to Dryanna’s side, placing a slim hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, my lady, this is my job, what you’ve hired me for. I’m here to insure that you always look the part, no matter the occasion. The Game is as much what you wear and when you wear as what you say and who you say it to.”

Dryanna thought she had grown used to the way humans favored clothing and fashion after dealing with Josie and her stint at the Winter Palace, but apparently that had only been the beginning.  Her people had been far too worried about things like survival to concern themselves with silks and lace, but she supposed that life was long gone. Had been since the day she’d fallen from the Fade.

 _Perhaps_ , she thought, watching the light catch the elegantly molded silver on Fleur’s face _, I wear a mask of my own already._

When the tailor arrived moments later to retake her measurements, she told herself that she would be a human in her mind, but an elf at heart, and maybe between them she could find some sort of common ground.  That maybe that was somehow the key to everything.

\---

Dryanna looked down from the balcony that had once been Vivienne’s domain, hands braced evenly on the railing. Fifty men stood at attention with Cullen and Michael surveying them.  They all wore dark blue lined in silver, and on their breasts, and emblazoned on their armor, was a lone, howling wolf. They wore _her_ colors, they were _her_ men, and she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about it.

Before this, they had belonged to the Inquisition, to a cause far beyond any one person or noble house, driven by a greater purpose. Now they stayed because of loyalty to her and it was somewhat unnerving.

Many of them were humans, some were elves, some were women, but all of them had fought and nearly died at her word, and here they still were. It made her feel _proud_ , which wasn’t the sort of feeling she often embraced, but one that was sometimes hard to ignore.

“They are ready for you, Your Grace,” Lady Fleur said quietly.

Dryanna took a breath and smiled, letting the other woman adjust the fall of her formal tunic, made more feminine by the close cut and draping sleeves. When she’d put it on earlier that morning even she hadn’t been able to deny that she looked… _imposing_ , regal even, with her hair pulled back into a high braid and her eyes carefully lined with just a hint of kohl.

“You look lovely, my lady.  Fierce, like a wolf,” Felur said, grinning wickedly, and Dryanna wished she liked the woman less. She couldn’t be trusted, she knew that, but the Lady Deveraux was an easy person to be around. Kind, well humored, witty, and thoughtful –if she was meant to win them over, she was playing her hand well.

Dryanna descended into the hall and out the main doors to stand upon the platform above the main bailey. The same platform where she’d stood and accepted the title of Inquisitor, the same platform she’d hugged Cullen, Josie and Lelianna on when she’d somehow managed to defeat Corypheus and survive.

First she had felt small, unworthy, afraid, and then broken, weary, and drained. Now she felt strong. Now she felt ready.

The men and women below her stood at fierce attention, the sun reflecting off their polished armor so bright she had to look at a place beyond them or be blinded, plumed helmets under their arms and swords at their sides. Behind her another crowd lingered, the castle staff and residents gathering quietly to listen to her speech and to honor those of the Wolf Guard –as many had already taken to affectionately calling them.

“You have been chosen to lead the guard of my house in part because of your skill and strength,” she began, willing her heart to steady. “But also for your courage and unwavering loyalty to a cause that saved our world in its darkest hour,” her voice rang out, clear and strong, reverberating off the walls and mountains that loomed over them all.

“You were the force that stood between Thedas and total destruction, who faced down demons and terrors beyond reckoning and remained strong and true, it is _I_ who am honored by your service and dedication,” she said, placing her fist firmly against her breast, a gesture they all imitated. “So I ask you, heroes of Thedas, will you stay? Will you protect my house and those who come after me? Will you protect our home, our people, no matter what might threaten them?”

Their roar of acceptance was so loud Dryanna thought she felt the stone beneath her quake, and her heart swelled from where it had fallen, the ache within it easing somewhat in the echoes of their cry. She drew her sword, not the sword of the Inquisition, but a sword that had been made in their own smithy, with the metal in the mountains near Skyhold, and held it aloft as the spectators behind joined the cry.

Here they would stand. Here she would begin.

\---

Later that night she sat at her desk, a mug of hot halla milk steaming beside her, and a requisition order between her fingers, when Michael came up the steps. 

“I hope I am not disturbing you, Your Grace,” he said, his accent smooth and his eyes warm. He was still in armor, though now in the colors of her house with a silver crown over her sigil to mark him as her Captain, and he looked very fine indeed. At least when Cullen left, she would still have a means of distracting any courtiers that happened to arrive in their halls.

Dryanna smiled and set the missive aside, her back aching. “Not at all Captain Chevin, I’m not sure I could stand to read another line anyway.”

He nodded as though he understood and said, “Please, call me Michael, Your Grace.”

Dryanna couldn’t quite help the smirk that tugged at her lips. “This is the part where I insist you call me Dryanna in private but I rather think you’ll object.”

His answering smirk was rueful. “Your Grace knows me well, though perhaps I can be persuaded to use ‘my lady’ when we are alone.”

“I’m always a fan of compromise,” she agreed and stood, stretching her back. “Was there something you wished to discuss?”

He paced before her, his boots hushed on her plush rugs of deep blue –Josie had wasted no time in ordering furnishing to match Skyhold’s new heraldry.

“I’ve selected a number of men and women to be my Lieutenants, Your Grace. Excuse me – _my_ lady,” he said with a slight bow and Dryanna bit back a chuckle. “And Lady Montilyet assures me that you will trust my judgment on this matter, though I’ve the list of names if you’d like to look them over.”

“You’ve my complete confidence, Captain. The Guard is yours to command as you see fit. Your judgment is far more suited to it than my own.” Not to mention that she hadn’t been lying when she told him she couldn’t stand to read anther word, her eyes already tired and burning from hours of letters and requests.

“If you say so, my lady, though if memory serves, you’ve quite the experience leading armies much larger than a household guard.”

Dryanna moved from behind her desk to retrieve her decanter of sweet wine, a gift from Dorian. She poured herself a glass but Michael shook his head when she held one out toward him.

“I was mostly a well-dressed figurehead, thanks to Josephine. The well-dressed part that is, I’m useless when it comes to ribbons and silks. I let Cullen do most of the _commanding_.”

“I’d heard a rumor that you notoriously down play your accomplishments,” his tone was tinged with humor and the firelight from the hearth was doing wonders for the blue in his eyes. Normally she was not so easily distracted by handsome men, but as the night over a week ago had proved, she was becoming rather susceptible.

Also, as loath as she was to admit it, she was lonely, and heart sick, and it was nice to have attractive men smiling at her. Which was likely entirely silly and shallow, but she thought it was harmless, so long as she didn’t act on any wild impulses.

“Oh, it’s only to trick people into believing I’m humble and magnanimous. In reality I take credit for the entire thing. I defeated Corypheus single-handedly, of course,” she said, and took a drink of wine, enjoying the heat it created in her belly.

Gods, she was dangerously close to flirting.

“Well, that is certainly how your men tell it. You saved them all, as far as they are concerned. Your people are very loyal, my lady, and eager to serve. I have never worked with a group of soldiers so dedicated to a single person before, and I must confess, though I appreciated my welcome back at court, I am happy to be among them again.”

She tried to hide the shiver of discomfort his words invoked. The near worship she sometimes received had never been an easy thing to swallow, but she didn’t want to appear ungrateful, either. “We weren’t sure if you’d accept, after Celene took you back into her good graces.”

Michael smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, which were filled with something close to regret. “I am glad the Empress and I were able to make amends, but some bridges can never be fully rebuilt, and I knew I would not wish to remain forever. Here at least I will be among friends, and I will serve a purpose.”

He looked at her, _really_ looked at her, and for a moment she almost saw what he might see. Someone strong, brave, noble –someone worth following, but then she turned to place her glass down and saw instead the pinned sleeve of her missing arm, and felt small again. Unconsciously, she rubbed at her elbow, the nub below it aching slightly.  

 _The human finds you interesting,_ offered the Well in a cold, masculine voice. _There is something about you that reminds him of someone. He is more than he seems, tread carefully._

“I’ll let you get back to your letters, my lady.” Michael said, likely misunderstanding her suddenly sour expression as she told the Well to bugger off.

“I’ve stationed men at the doors,” he continued, “but I’ve heard that you like to wander about the castle at night sometimes, I only ask that you let a guard know where you are going if you can’t be persuaded to take one with you.”

Dryanna frowned a little. “Take a guard with me?” Even during the war with Corypheus, she hadn’t had guards trailing after her when she moved about the castle.

Michael nodded, looking stern. “Indeed, your grace. The Orlesian Court can be treacherous, and you are now a part of it. I’m sure Lady Montilyet has told you that there are many who are not pleased by your rise to power.”

Dryanna lifted her chin a little. “You truly believe someone would try to attack me? Here?”

“You had an incident already, did you not? With an elven man?”

Dryanna flushed, realizing he had a point, though she didn’t like that. She'd been trying very hard to forget her encounter with Abelas. “That was something… different. I don’t believe he was here to harm me.” It was a weak argument, and she knew it even as she said it.

Michael remained serious. “It is now _my_ job to see to your safety, my lady, but I can only do that if you are willing to corporate with me.”

Dryanna forced down a sigh. “I will try to be more… accommodating.”

Michael smirked and bowed a little. “That is all I ask, my lady.”

She pulled Morrigan’s necklace out of her pocket after he left, turning it mindlessly over in her hands, and decided she would save it for yet another night, telling herself she was in no way stalling. It wasn’t as if she were _afraid_ of the witch, or the Eluvians, for that matter.

No, not at all.

\----

Midway through her morning meeting with Leliana and Josie, the amulet between her breasts grew warm and vibrated. She nearly jumped out of her chair, where she’d been half dozing while the other women argued over the placement of the servants with a new wing nearly completed. They didn’t really need her there, and she’d been less than useless, but she was still trying to wake up completely after another long, restless night.

“Excuse me for a moment, ladies,” she said, flustered, and Leliana waved her away with a knowing smirk.

Dryanna slipped into the stairwell where she was less likely to run into someone side-eyeing her for talking into a necklace, and pressed her thumb into the swirling gem.  

“Hello sunshine, do you miss me?” Dorian purred at her.

“Hello Dorian,” she said dryly.

“Tsk, such attitude, and when I have such wonderful news.”

Dryanna was smiling, leaning against the wall in the flickering torch light. “Oh? And what news is that?”

“Well, I have arrived safely in Teivnter, which is the bad news of course, but the _good_ news is that I sent our mutual horned friend on his way home a few days ago, and he should be returning with a small present from me.”

“A present, eh? What sort of present? And if it’s some sort of crazy magical sex toy I am going to be very disappointed,” she said, lowering her voice just in case someone decided to round the steps at an inopportune time.

“You are entirely too prudish my dear, but no, unfortunately it is nothing like that, though it certainly has given me some ideas-“

“Dorian,” she warned and he laughed, the sound warm and inviting even across the distances between them.

“This present is a surprise, but I should warn you that it will acquire a room and accommodations.”

“You’re sending me a _person_?”

She could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “Yes, a very _useful_ person.”

“I’ll let Leliana and Michael know, I suppose.”

“Michael, eh?” Dorian drawled, and Dryanna knew she’d make a mistake. “As in Michael de Chevin, formally a Chevalier and Champion of the Empress? The very attractive and very _available_ Michael de Chevin who has women swooning at his feet wherever he walks-”

“Gods, Dorian, don’t start,” she groaned petulantly.

“No wonder you don’t need me to send you any sex toy-“

Dryanna cut him off by snapping the locket shut as a passing servant came up the steps, smiling at her, though looking rather confused, as she flushed to the very roots of her hair and stammered over a strange apology before darting back up the steps.

She had a hard time looking Michael in the eyes for the rest of the day.

\----

Dorian’s ‘present’ arrived with Iron Bull and the Chargers two weeks later. It was a cold day, overcast with the promise of snow, when the horn sounded from the gate. Michael followed her out of the hall as she attempted not to skip down the steps like a frivolous girl. Her Captain wasn’t far from her side these days, and she was growing used to her handsome, armored shadow.

Dryanna met them in the bailey, relieved to have an old friend near at hand. Sera was usually busy with Dagana and nearly everyone else was up to their ears in dismantling the remainder of the Inquisition, so she was having a hard time finding anyone to unwind with. And spending time with Bull was always an excellent way to decompress. Or get roaring drunk.

“How’s it going boss? See you’ve already spruced the place up,” Bull said, swinging off his massive Nug mount, a gift from her after Corypheus’s fall. Someone needed to make use of the massive things.

“Joise,” she said as a way of explanation, and Bull nodded with a smirk.

“Woman has plans, backup plans, and _backup_ backup plans for everything. Good to see you, Chevin,” he said as Dryanna went to hug Krem, a familiar Bard still in tow. _Everyone has someone, these days_ , she thought, before shoving the bitter voice forcefully down.

“Captain of the house Guard, eh?” Bull continued, lightly flicking the crest on Michael’s breastplate. “Why, I’d almost be insulted if I didn’t have my own merry band of lunatics to look after.”

“Who better to lead a bunch of loons than the craziest fucker in Thedas,” Krem snorted and Michael seemed to be fighting down a laugh.

There was a slight cough and everyone turned to look at a thin man -a _mage_ if his long black and red robes were any indication- with dark hair and sharp eyes. The most striking thing about him, however, was his missing left arm.

“Right, forgot my damn manners. This here is Grave, or at least that’s what we’ve taken to calling him. Dorian thought you might make use of him.” Bull thundered and slapped the man soundly on the back. To his credit, he didn’t go flying to the ground.

‘Grave’ bowed low to Dryanna. “A pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” he said, with a clear Tevinter accent.

Dryanna nodded in turn. “Mages we have, no offence… Grave. What did Dorian intend we, ah, _use_ you for.”

Grave smiled, making no attempt to correct the nickname, and there was something cold and dangerous about it. “I have a particular set of skills that Dorian thought you might find useful.”

“Sounds kinky,” Krem said, tossing an arm over Maryden's shoulders.

Michael coughed to hide a laugh and Dryanna flushed.

“Ah, well, I’m afraid Dorian didn’t really give me much warning, but we have a room prepared for you, and I’ve a maid waiting to show you the way.”

“Thank you, Your Grace, I’ll provide your Chamberlain with a training schedule,” the man said, unfazed as he handed his dull looking horse to a stable boy.           

Dryanna frowned. “Training?”

A servant appeared at her elbow, clearly ready to take the strange mage to his rooms.

“Yes, Your Grace,” he said with a passing smile, dark eyes glinting with intelligence and humor. “We start tomorrow.”

“Ohoho,” Bull chortled. “This oughta be good.”

\----

The following morning, after a night spent catching up with Bull and the Chargers, it took Josie and Leliana combined to get her out of bed.

Michael came to fetch her as Lady Fleur helped to lace her into a fine set of training leathers and obviously had to bite back a laugh when he caught her eye.

“You look like you are feeling well, Your Grace,” he said.

“You mean I look like trampled nug shit,” she grumbled and she thought Fleur might have pulled her laces a little tighter than necessary in punishment.

He smiled. “Your new mage pet is waiting for you, along with the Iron Bull and several of his men.”

“Wonderful,” she said and went to fish a vial out of her desk once Fleur set her free.

“What is that?” the other woman asked, voice laced disgust as Dryanna quickly swallowed the contents, fighting back a gag.

“Hangover cure,” she croaked. “Bull makes it. Works everytime, but it tastes like horse sh- poop.” She finished, catching Fleur's eye. 

“Know what that tastes like, do you?” Leliana teased, waiting for her at the steps and Dryanna glowered at her.

“I’m going, _I’m going_ ,” she said. “You can all stop bullying me now.”

Leliana only laughed, tinkling and wicked, and Dryanna elbowed her on her way down the stairs.

Ten minutes later, outside and feeling marginally less like throwing herself from the walls of Skyhold, Dryanna grasped her staff in hand and tried to ignore how her heart sank at the foreign weight of it. She’d trained for years and years, nearly her entire life to use a staff, and now she may as well have been holding a fish for all that she knew what to do with it.

“Don’t make that face, Your Grace, ease and comfort will come in time. First we must teach you to forget,” Grave said, seemingly appearing from the shadows on a breeze and into the deserted training yard they’d reserved for more… _private_ practice.

Mostly it was so visiting nobles wouldn’t’ complain about having to fence alongside common soldiers. Dryanna had been against the whole idea, but Josie had overruled her. At least now it would serve a better purpose than allowing prissy Lords to look down their noses at her men. Like letting Bull and Stiches cat-call her from the western wall where they lounged.

Dryanna arched a brow, ignoring them as Michael and several other guards watched attentively from nearby. “Forget what?”

“Forget that you ever had a left hand,” he said, twirling his staff perfectly in his remaining hand, passing it across his body to the remainder of his arm, and across his back with the ease most people used to walk. “Forget what it felt like to have that balance. You must find a new balance, a new _center_. Your world has been changed, and you must adapt.” The words resonated with her and she watched the passage of his staff blade, deadly and fierce as it glinted in the dawn.

Dryanna drew in a breath. “I understand.”

He smiled, dark eyes twinkling. “You don’t, not yet, but you will.”

-

An hour later, Michael brought her snow wrapped in a cloth, a pitying look on his face.

“You did well, Your Grace,” he offered as she eased the bundle against her throbbing cheek, wincing slightly as it burned.

“I looked like I’d never held a staff in my life,” she spat, not in the mood. Her head was still wringing from the blow that had laid her out.

Grave had pushed her through the most basic exercises with all the zeal of a military commander, demanding more and more, never letting up, and never going easy on her, until he’d all but knocked her unconscious with the most basic swing attack in the book. It had been embarrassing and she hated it. Hated the way Bull had cheered her on and Michael had smiled at her afterward, like she was completely pathetic.

“I had a mentor, in the Chevaliers, best fighter I’ve ever met,” Michael said, ignoring her scathing tone and glare as he squatted before her, bringing them eye level as she sat in the shadow of the castle on a bale of hay.

“He taught me everything I know, was like a father to me. There was an accident in training one day, lost his leg to it eventually, and I’ll never forget what he said to me.”

Dryanna sucked in a breath, still feeling prickly. “Probably something uplifting and clever.”

Michael laughed. “Hardly. He said, ‘Thank the Maker, I finally have an excuse to put my sword aside and live a real life, pray that someday you're so lucky, son.”

“Michael,” she said dryly, “that is not helpful.”

His eyes, bright and kind, softened as they caught her gaze and held it. “Maybe not, but when raiders attacked his village two years later, he fought them valiantly, had been training in private for years to compensate for his leg, just in case the need to defend himself or his family ever came. I suppose my point is, Your Grace, that perhaps the time has come for you to set your sword aside, the war is over, you’ve paid your dues, train because you wish to learn, not because you need to fight.”

Dryanna frowned, easing the frozen cloth from her head. “I’m… not sure what you mean.”

“I mean, my lady, that if this is something you want, something you _need_ , then don’t give up. You’ve fallen down, we all do, you have to decide if you want to get back up and try again or… move on and let it go.”

Dryanna searched his gaze, eyes narrowing. “You are a strangely perceptive man.”

Michael laughed. “Don’t tell anyone, I have a reputation to maintain.”

Dryanna snorted and rolled her eyes as Michael took the pack from her, pressing it back to the side of her face again with a surprisingly gentle hand. “Let’s get you inside shall we, you’ve a meeting with some merchants from Ferelden.”

Dryanna groaned. “I wish Grave had knocked me unconscious.”

“I somehow doubt that would stop Lady Motilyet from dragging you along,” he said, helping her to her feet, and together they headed back toward the inner garden.

Dryanna was smiling by the time Lady Fleur accosted them, fussing over the bruise on her cheek, and she even managed to keep from strangling the Fereldens. Though it was a near thing. 

 


End file.
